


Sherlock Holmes, the Time Traveler

by Broadwaylover17



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: About Time, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst, Character Death, Crime Drama, F/M, Fluff, Minor Violence, Sappy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24991639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broadwaylover17/pseuds/Broadwaylover17
Summary: Inspired by the film "About Time," Sherlock Holmes learns that he can travel through time! With this incredible power, he discovers how some moments are fixed in time and are meant to be. Other moments can shift and change your life, and not always for the better. Maybe giving something a second go will help Sherlock reconnect with who he used to be. Helping him become the man he was meant to be...
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 53
Kudos: 52





	1. January 6th, 2001

**The 6th of January, 2001**

**The Holmes Estate**

**Downstairs Study**

As I take a seat on the sofa, Mycroft, my elder, and more fastidious, brother, paces around the study. This behavior is quite unusual for him, and I begin to feel an uneasy sensation in the pit of my stomach. I note my brother’s eyes behold a hint of worry or nervousness in them. I steady myself, preparing mentality for whatever he has to say.

Finally, Mycroft becomes still and directs his attention to me. “Have you deduced why I have asked you to meet me here in private?” my brother asks me in a low, unsure manner.

I take a moment to recollect any data that could lead to a reasonable conclusion. It is all for not, I’m afraid to say, because the clues I have to go on are that today is my birthday and that my brother seems out of sorts. Having this limited amount of evidence to go on annoys me greatly, and I reply sharply with, “Well, judging by your extreme apprehensiveness, I can only assume that this conversation is of great importance. And...it is of a personal nature that mustn’t be divulged to anyone else. Why else would you choose such a secluded room in our family estate? Am I wrong?” A confident smirk forms at the corner of my lips as I watch beads of sweat drip from my brother’s brow.

Mycroft’s Adam’s apple bobs before his mouth moves to answer. “Indeed, brother mine. This conversation is of considerable importance. To you and me, and the entire Holmes family. Please understand that what I am about to tell you...will make you question my sanity.” He inhales gently to ease his nerves. “But, I assure you, Sherlock, that it is very real.”

I become impatient with his ambiguous speech. “Oh for God’s sake, Mycroft. Just come out with it already!”

“Okay!” he snaps. “It is a secret that has been kept from generation to generation among the Holmes men. And that secret is...all the men in our family have the ability to travel through time.” Mycroft’s face changes like a great weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He soon collapses on the sofa right next to me, awaiting my response. 

_He’s mad!_ I think to myself. It’s simply impossible to travel through time. I am a man of science, a man of logic, and Mycroft’s statement is, by far, the most ridiculous, nonsensical drivel I have ever heard. I begin to chuckle, and my chuckle soon develops into a fit of hysterical laughter. I see that my brother is not amused by my reaction. 

“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?”

I calm myself enough to reply. “Oh, yes. Quite funny! This is complete rubbish, Mycroft! And you know it!”

“Sherlock, listen carefully. Every man in the Holmes family learns about this...genetic trait on their twenty-first birthday. When Father told me, it took me weeks to even consider attempting it. But once I did, I accepted it as fact. You must do so as well.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “If this is true, even though it isn’t-”

“It is!” interrupts Mycroft.

“But it isn’t.” I continue. “What have you done or been doing with this so-called gift of ours?”

“Reading,” he replies flatly.

I give a snort. “How predictable.”

“No, really. It has been incredible, Sherlock! How else can you explain why I’m the smart one?” A devilish smile forms on his face after that statement and memories of humiliation during adolescence come back to haunt me. Memories of Mycroft getting higher marks than me on exams. Memories of him being two steps ahead of me in every subject we studied. Somehow, ever since he turned twenty-one, Mycroft has been more clever than me. _Oh, infuriating! That cheat! That arsehole!_

“Well, if it’s true, how on earth can we travel through time? Do we own a blue box that’s bigger on the inside? Or a DeLorean?”

“You can only travel to a time that you have experienced. We can’t try to kill Hitler or shag Helen of Troy. The way to travel through time is quite simple actually. Go into a dark room. A cupboard or a wardrobe will do. Close your eyes and picture where you want to go, and then squeeze your hands into fists. Before you know it, you’re there. To change what went wrong the first time or to relive a good day. To get a second chance. Then, when you want to go back, just repeat the same process and visualize the present. Oh, I just remembered. We can’t go into the future either. To my knowledge, no one in our family has ever greatly affected the space-time continuum by doing this.”

_Mycroft is clearly delusional_. “Good lord. You’re serious? You really believe what you’re saying.”

My brother sighs deeply. Now, he’s greatly exasperated. “Sherlock! Believe it or don’t believe it, but it _is_ true. Go on and try it for yourself. See what happens. Go on!” He gestures towards the door.

I scoff at him. I don’t buy his scheme. It is simply impossible. “Rest assured, Mycroft. I will give you concrete proof that you are barmy.” Before he can retort, I turn the knob as I finish speaking, making my leave.

* * *

_Okay, Mycroft. I’ll play along. I’ll go into my wardrobe._

Deftly, I make my way up the stairs to my room. Open the wardrobe. Push my shirts out of the way, and take a seat. I swing the doors towards me, encompassing myself in darkness. A faint laugh escapes my lips as I think about the ridiculousness of this situation. I am in my wardrobe, attempting to travel back in time. 

_What year shall I choose? Primary School Years? Secondary? Early days of Uni?_ “Ah! I got it!” I exclaim out loud. Eyes squeeze shut. Fists tightened. _Think! Picture it! Take me back to that day!_

* * *

My breath hitches as I open my eyes. Nothing seems out of sorts. Yet. As I open the wardrobe, my body freezes. Surprisingly, I am stunned by what I see. My room looks just as it did when I was in primary school. Moreover, I take note of my reflection in the mirror, and...it’s me, but I am seven years old! I curse under my breath. It’s as if I drank from the fountain of youth! I’m a child again! I have my small hands, my mop of messy curls on the top of my head, and my hideous jumper that Mum insisted upon me wearing that day. 

“Sherlock, love! Time for the beach. Come down!” That’s my mum’s voice. A bright grin appears on my face. This feeling is incredible. I really do feel like a child again. I’m excited about the beach. This is my favorite childhood memory. On this day, I am purely, incandescently happy…

The rocky path is our guide to the shore. The smell of the salty ocean pervades the air. I hear the rush of the ocean ahead. Mycroft runs ahead of me, but he quickly gets winded. _I forgot about Mycroft’s weight woes. This was before his diet._

“Mikey, take it easy! We’ll get there soon enough.” _Mum was always gentle with us,_ I think to myself as we draw nearer to the beach. _And she still is. To this day. Or the ‘present’ I should say._

Dad lays out the blanket for us, and Mum starts to empty out her basket. Assortments of fruits, cheeses, and loaves of bread spreading across the blanket. My stomach rumbles just looking at it. Mycroft, of course, is the first of us to tuck in. I soon join in after. 

The day unfolds just like I remembered it. Mum tousles with my hair and tickles me all over till I burst out laughing, begging for her to stop. Dad takes great delight in filming everything with his camcorder. 

_I love this day. I really missed this day. It was a better time, a joyous time. I wonder what happened. What happened to me? Why did I change?_

The day comes to an end sooner than I had hoped. _All good things must come to an end…_

A window of opportunity arises, and I sneak up to my room. Back in the wardrobe. Eyes closed. Hands gripped. _Present...Take me back to the present._

* * *

Daylight creeps through the cracks of the wardrobe. I frantically check myself, ensuring that I’m ‘back to normal.’ Large hands, not small. Button-down shirt, no jumper. Long legs, not short. I did return from the past. I start to wonder what has changed if anything. Before I could ponder further, Mycroft enters my room and opens the wardrobe. He’s clearly satisfied with himself. _The smug prat!_

“So, brother mine! Where- when were you?”

My face tightens, thoroughly embarrassed for being wrong. I timidly answer. “The beach, 1987. Just like I remembered it.”

Mycroft responds with a ‘hmph.’ He saunters to the door but stops just as he passes the threshold. “Keep in mind, Sherlock. Make sure you time travel for things that _really matter_. And remember, don't be too smart about it...I’m the smart one!” He gives me a cheeky wink and finally takes his leave.

I remain in the wardrobe. Thinking. Considering.

_Brilliant!! I’m not sure what I’ll use this remarkable ability for. This is too good to be true! And to top it all off, it’s my birthday..._


	2. December 15th 2010

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock meets Molly Hooper, and he decides to travel in time. Something he hasn't done since his twenty-first birthday...

  
  


**December 15th, 2010**

**St. Bartholomeus Hospital**

**London, England**

**The Morgue**

Ever since Mycroft revealed the family secret (that all Holmes men are time travelers), I have yet to use my gift again. After that day on the beach, I have had no desire to do so. Why should I travel in time when I’m perfectly content with my life? My blog is successful ( in a manner of speaking ), and Scotland Yard is so clueless that they constantly need my assistance. In an age where people fill their minds with all kinds of rubbish, I strive to retain information that matters. Who cares who's the Prime Minister? Or who is sleeping with who? The details of a crime scene. The dust placement. My study of tobacco ash. Those are the important things. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots.  _ God forbid that should ever happen to me. I never wish to see the day that a person changes my life. Quite undesirable… _

It’s a glorious day here in London. The sky is clear. The cars are whizzing by. People are being, ugh, people. And, there is a case to be solved! A murder. How delightful! It’s at least a six or a seven. DI Lestrade informs me that the body has been moved to St. Bart’s Hospital.  _ Idiots! Why bring me on for this case if you’re going to move the body from the crime scene before I arrive? What utter stupidity.  _

“All right, Mike. Which moron is on mortuary duty? Is it Louis? Darla?” I ask as I strut towards the door. Mike Stamford blocks it. He shoots me a look of warning.

“Listen here, Sherlock,” Mike says to me firmly. “We have a new pathologist here. Just transferred here about a week ago, and she’s very nice.  _ And _ she’s smart. So, just try to watch what you say, okay? Don’t make this one run away like the last six.” Mike smiles at me. A blatant attempt at trying not to seem demanding. It’s not working.

I sigh. “Look, Mike. The fact that your pathologists run away from this hospital is of no fault of mine! The fault lies in the insipid, brainless people that can’t handle working with me.”

“ _ No one can handle working with you,”  _ I hear him whisper under his breath. The comment slightly offends me, so I push Mike out of the way and enter the morgue.

I scan the room and discover a petite woman (about 5’4”) who is currently elbow-deep in a chest cavity. I cross the room for a better look at the victim. I hear Mike yell “Wait just a moment!” as I get closer to the slab. 

_ Male, late fifties, a security guard (judging by his callous feet and flabby backside), dirt and other fibers under fingernails indicate a struggle, lacerations on his neck, most likely died from bleeding out … _

“Um, excuse me, sir, but...uh, may I ask who you are?”

The tiny voice I hear breaks my concentration.  _ Dammit!  _ I look up to see the young woman standing before me. I can read her like an open book.

_ Single, lonely, kind, highly skilled, unwanted, cat person, easy to convince, deceased parents… _

“Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Here to see the body, and you?” My words fly out of my mouth at a rapid pace. I want to get introductions out of the way, so I can get back to examining the body. 

“Molly, I’m so sorry! I told him to wait for me. I tried to tell him,” adds Mike, slightly winded from catching up with me.

“Oh! Um...Molly. My name’s Molly Hooper.” She smiles brightly at me, but I take very little notice. “Sherlock, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for me to finish the autopsy before you can examine this man. That way, I can collect data that can help your case.” She speaks so enthusiastically as if this is her most exciting endeavor. 

“Come now, Miss Hooper. Surely having another person in the morgue won’t disturb you. It’s not like your task is of the utmost importance. I’ve already surmised the cause of death. Having you work on the autopsy as I examine the body will help expedite the process. It’s not like you have anything better to do with your time.” I chuckle, and she does not take kindly to it.

“Excuse me, but, no! You may  _ not _ remain here. That statement was rude, unprofessional, and uncalled for. I must insist you leave. Now!” I see the anger and hurt in her face. Not good.

Damn!  _ I wasn’t expecting that. Maybe I should give this a second go. See if I can convince her.  _ “Hmm...let’s try this again. Shall we?” 

Molly is confused by my statement. “I’m sorry, what?” she says bitterly as I take my leave. 

I head for the nearest broom cupboard. In the darkness, my eyes close and my fists clench. I turn back time. Something I haven’t done in a long time. Not since my twenty-first birthday.

* * *

My eyes open, and I push the door ajar. I see Stamford walk past me, and I catch up to him. Our conversation is beat for beat as it was the first time around. He attempts to stop me once again and I ignore him yet again. This time with more determination. I know who’s inside the morgue, and, this time, she’s going to let me have my way. One way or another. “Molly Hooper! Lovely to make your acquaintance. I’m Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective for Scotland Yard. I wish to examine the body, and, yes, I wish to do so as you continue your autopsy. It should be quite thrilling! What do you say?” I approach her with feigned enthusiasm and a flirtatious smile, and she, predictably, stutters from astonishment.

“Wha- sorry, but, um, how-how do you know my name?” she asks timidly.

Mike catches up to me, winded once again. I extend an arm around his shoulder and bring him closer to me, giving an overzealous, but friendly squeeze. “My old mate, Mikey here, told me all about you.”

“I did?” questions Mike, in a hushed and puzzled manner.

“Yes,” I mutter quickly, hinting for him to play along.

“Oh! Yes, uh, of course, I did.” Mike smiles nervously. He’s a terrible liar, but somehow Molly is not suspicious. 

“So what do you say? I can stay?” I maintain my cheery disposition, and I enhance it with puppy-dog eyes, just for her.  _ Surely this will work.  _ As Molly considers my request, more deductions rush through my mind at lightning speed. All of them are about her.

_ Big, brown eyes _

_ FOCUS _

_ Soft skin _

_ CONCENTRATE _

_ Very, very sweet… _

_ What the hell?  _ I think to myself.  _ What kind of rubbish is this? Why am I noticing that nonsense? Delete, delete, delete… _

“Um, yeah. I guess so. Sure! Why not. You can stay.” There’s a gentle warmth to her voice as she replies.  _ Ignore it, Sherlock! Not important. _

“Excellent! That’ll do Mike. Thanks for showing me the way.” I push Mike towards the door, encouraging him to leave as soon as possible. He complies, but not before showing me a knowing smile on his face.

“Have fun, Sherlock,” he whispers. “Ta, Molly!” He raises his voice for her to hear.

_ What the hell could he mean by that? Oh, well. It doesn’t really matter. _

My attention returns to the small pathologist who’s currently weighing the victim’s innards. “Molly,” I start. She answers with a ‘hmm.’ “Do you, by any chance, have any severed body parts lying around?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I borrowed some lines from series 1, and I took inspiration from the following Tumblr post for the Molly deductions.
> 
> https://strawberrypatty.tumblr.com/post/75465898402/what-did-sherlock-figure-out-about-molly-when-he 
> 
> Thanks for your lovely comments!   
> Stay tuned for more :)


	3. January 29th 2011

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock will do whatever it takes to solve the case of the Blind Baker. Whatever it takes...

**January 29th, 2011**

**St. Bartholomeus Hospital**

**London, England**

  
  


_ Ever since I've become acquainted with Dr. John Watson (my new flatmate), my life has taken an interesting turn. Now, I have a live-in assistant rather than just having my good friend Billy (my skull which Mrs. Hudson loves to swipe from the mantelpiece when I’m not looking) to talk to. John's been helpful, to some extent. He tends to get upset when I don’t explain something fully or when I don’t listen to him. I don’t know why he gets like that, and, honestly, I don’t really care. _

_ No matter! There’s a case to be solved. Edward Van Coon and Brian Lukis are dead. I know without a shadow of a doubt that they were murdered. And the mysterious symbols I found at both crime scenes prove that they’re connected! That moronic detective thinks that they’re suicides and completely unrelated. What's his name again? Dommock? Dickie? Oh, well. Completely irrelevant. _

_ It's imperative that I see those bodies. Both victims have all the evidence I need to prove their connection! But, I need access to the morgue. Once again, I need Molly Hooper’s help… _

* * *

My mouth curves into a small smile as I approach Molly from behind. She seems apprehensive as she contemplates what she’ll have for dinner. I don’t blame her considering the choices. Incredibly unappetizing! Just looking at the bland mashed potatoes that look like shaving cream and pork that is soaking in gelatinous goo is enough to make me queasy. I don’t consider myself to be a foodie. Frankly, it’s a nuisance, a hindrance to my work. My life would be far more productive if I didn’t have to eat, but no amount of time travel can change the fact that I require nourishment in order to survive.  _ A cross I have to bear, I guess. _

In an effort to economize on time, I announce my request clearly and concisely. “Molly, I need access to two bodies. Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis. Now would be ideal. Come on! Chop, chop.”

Molly looks perplexed after I speak. I see what was once a luminous smile dip into a frown, and her eyes change. I can’t comprehend it. I only asked a simple question. I didn’t insult her. _ Did I? _

“Sherlock, I’m actually really hungry. I’ve been working for five hours straight. I need this break, and the paperwork has already gone through. Sorry, but I can’t help you right now.” Her lips close together tightly as she plops a scoop of mashed potatoes onto her plate, and she hastily retreats before I can respond. 

_ Dammit! What does it take for her to get me what I want?!  _ I think back to our previous encounters, and I remind myself of how fidgety and smiley Molly is around me. She has a propensity to stutter whenever she attempts to speak to me, and she appears to be elated whenever I’m around.  _ A-ha! The little mouse has a crush on me. Definitely can use that to my advantage. _

I sprint to the loo, locking the door behind me and turning off the lights. Picturing the time I wish to return to in my mind’s eye. _I need it. I need those bodies for this case, and I will get what I want._

* * *

“What are you thinking? Pork or the pasta?” Molly turns around. Her eyes light up in surprise, and she flashes me a smile.

“Oh, it’s you!” I notice that her hair is different today. Instead of being parted in the middle as she usually wears it, it’s now tied into a low side bun and parted off to the right.  _ Why am I thinking about her hair? That doesn’t matter. Focus, Sherlock! _

“Suppose it’s not going to trouble Egon Ranay, is it?” I choose light banter even though I want to keep this conversation as brief as possible. A little patience can help me get what I want, so I continue to discuss why she should choose the pasta over the pork.

“What are you having?” she asks, jittery and grinning.

“Don’t eat when I’m working. Digestion slows me down.” Now, here it comes. I ask to see Van Coon and Lukis’s bodies. “Could you wheel them out again for me?”  _ Time to put on the charm.  _ I’ve always admired the craft of acting. I thank God that I read “An Actor Prepares.” An investment that is currently paying off.

“Well… the paperwork’s already gone through.” She bares her teeth in an awkward smile. A smile that says ‘sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.’

_ Unacceptable! What does it take? Think....Wait a minute. That's it! _

“Oh! You...changed your hair.” Molly replies with a confused ‘what.’ “The style- it’s usually parted in the middle.” She attempts to answer, still unsure of herself. “No, it’s good. It suits you better this way,” I continue. While forcing a smile, I observe her reaction to my compliment. Somehow, I’m enjoying how that makes her feel, but I overlook that thought. As she turns around, I drop the facade.  _ Thank god it worked! My face was starting to hurt. _

“Oh, Sherlock.” Molly turns back, and my eyebrows perk up.  _ Oh, great! What is it now _ ? “Do you...do you mind sitting with me as I eat? This is the only break I have before I need to get back to work.” That nervous, apologetic smile returns. I detest the thought of having to wait for her to finish her meal, but I know that I need to do whatever it takes.

_ All that matters to me is the work… _

“Suure.” I prolong my one-worded reply and grit my teeth as I follow her to a table. 

* * *

I watch as she delicately nibbles on her food (she took my advice and chose the pasta) as I tap out a rhythm to a Bach concerto on my thigh.  _ Never expected Molly to be such a dainty eater.  _ I check my watch, making sure that I still have some time before that detective shows up like I asked. Eight-thirty. That’s the deadline. And it’s already eight-fifteen.  _ Dammit, Molly! Eat faster! _

As I worry about the approaching deadline, Molly fumbles in her attempt at small talk which consists of morbid jokes and silly questions for me to answer. I play along and respond with the same level of charm as before. However, as she continues to eat and converse with me, I find myself answering the subsequent questions more earnestly.  _ This pathologist really confuses me. What does she get out of this? Why is Molly so interested in me?  _ I become increasingly agitated as I mull over that thought, but luckily Molly finishes her dinner and I bury the uncomfortable feeling in a matter of seconds. 

_ Damn emotions! An utterly terrible flaw of the human condition. Makes me so irate that I let them surface now and then. Especially around her... _

* * *

“We’re just interested in the feet,” I state as I enter the morgue with Detective ‘What’s His Name’ trailing behind me. 

“The feet?” Molly is slow on the uptake. I hope that she catches on to my meaning.

“Yes! Would you mind if we had a look at them?” Charisma is switched back on once again except this time my eyes linger on Molly as she moves to the other end of the body bag. A strange sensation swirls around in my gut, so I quickly look down at the corpse’s feet. 

* * *

_ Time travel is a preposterous concept in my opinion. Yet, miraculously, I’ve managed to travel back in time at least three times now. I have no desire to use this 'gift' as a way of cheating my methods of deductions. Can’t permit my brain to slow down. Can’t let my mind become placid or vacant.  _

_ But, there’s one feature of interest that I can’t comprehend.  _

_ Why have I only used my power for situations that involve Molly Hooper? _

_ Why... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Sherlock....You think others are slow on the uptake ;)
> 
> Credit to The Blind Banker episode. I used direct quotes in this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	4. December 24th 2011

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the most wonderful time of the year. For everyone who isn't Sherlock Holmes...

**December 24th, 2011**

**221B Baker Street**

**London, England**

  
  


_ Christmas is, without a doubt, one of the most absurd holidays in existence. People go out of their way to spend copious amounts of money on gifts that their loved ones will never use. Christmas lights are gaudy and tacky, and the music (except for the music before the 1800s) is incredibly cheesy.  _

_ I am not fond of the holiday. Mostly because as a child Mycroft would always win at our annual chess competition, and he would gloat every time he would win. Mum and Dad did nothing to stop him from tormenting me. I also am a vehement atheist, so the Christian context of Christmas holds no place in my heart.  _

_ And now I must suffer a Christmas party!  _

_ Mrs. Hudson wants me to wear an antler headband. Though I don’t believe in you, if there is a God, please help me... _

* * *

“Play, Sherlock! Play for us!” exclaims Mrs. Hudson, beaming.

I let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, yes, yes. All right. Only for you, Mrs. Hudson.” I pick up my violin and bow. Starting on a down bow, I play ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas.’ I see Mrs. Hudson’s face light up, and, remarkably, it makes me smile.

As I play, I notice Lestrade nursing his glass of wine. Poor sod is going to have a rough Christmas. Completely unaware that his wife is sleeping with the PE teacher. Meanwhile, John takes the opportunity to snog his latest girlfriend. I cringe at the sight of it.  _ Really, John? Her? She’s so dull! _

I finesse the last phrase of the song with an ornament. “Lovely, Sherlock! That was lovely,” declares Mrs. Hudson.

While everyone else indulges in pies and alcohol, I retreat to my Mind Palace. There, I contemplate the enigma that is Irene Adler. A woman who beat me at my own game.  _ A woman capable of besting me? I’m intrigued!  _

As the evening progresses, boredom creeps up on me. The conversations are dull. The food is mediocre (John can cook, but this is not his best). And the company is...lacking.  _ Something is missing. Why does the party feel empty? Who wasn’t invited? _

_ Molly Hooper…. _

“Excuse me for a moment,” I say to everyone as I head to my room.

“What’s wrong? Sherlock?” asks John as I pass by.

“I said ‘excuse me,” I reply flatly.

The door slams and I turn off the lights.  _ Take me back. I forgot something…. _

* * *

**_One Day Earlier_ **

**_St. Bart’s_ **

“Molly!” I holler as I enter the lab.

“Oh, hello, Sherlock!” she says with her usual cheery grin.

“What are you doing for Christmas this year?” 

“Um, not much, actually. Mum is on holiday in New Zealand, and my mate, Meena, has a dinner date with her fiance.” She fidgets with her petri dish as she responds. Her head is tilted down.  _ She seems...unhappy. Most unusual for Molly Hooper.  _

“Well, John insisted on having a party tomorrow night. Mrs. Hudson will be there, obviously. Not sure if Lestrade will be there. I think he’s off to Dorset. John’s newest girlfriend will be there too. God help us all.” I hear Molly stifle a giggle, and I smirk in response. “And then there’s me and John. He’ll be off to his sister’s next week. I don’t know why he’s visiting her. She’s a drunk. She barely communicates with him, and she frequently mocks his life choices. She’s forgotten his birthday for Christ’s sake! He deserves a better sister. Someone- someone like...you actually.”  _ What?! What am I saying?! _

Molly’s cheeks flush in a light shade of pink. “Oh, well...that’s nice of you to say, Sherlock. Are you-are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine, Molly!” I snap at her. 

“Okay! Sorry. Just asking.”  _ Lashing out at her doesn’t seem to phase her. Interesting. _

“Anyways...you’re welcome to come if you’d like…”

“That would be great. Thanks, Sherlock! What time’s the party?” Her smile glows, but then again it always does.

“Seven o’clock, but you can come round any time, really.” I avert my gaze after I realize that I am looking at her mouth. Luckily, she doesn’t notice.

“Wonderful! I’ll see you then!”

I run off to another dark room. Closing my eyes again. Traveling back to the present…

* * *

  
  


“I wish you could’ve worn the antlers!” Mrs. Hudson says, giggling.

“Some things are best left for the imagination, Mrs. Hudson.” John’s girlfriend offers me a hand pie. I decline politely, and apparently, I get her name wrong.  _ Why does it matter? This one probably won’t last the week. She’s a boring teacher for crying out loud! _

In the hallway, a coat, a silver bow, and two bags of gifts come into my peripheral vision. “Oh, dear Lord,” I mutter to myself.

“Hello, everyone! Hello.”  _ Molly looks ridiculous. She’s wearing makeup. She’s wearing her hair down, and...there’s a bow pinned on top. A bow, Molly? Really? Are you a Christmas present or a woman? _

Her appearance sours my mood and I look away, shifting my attention to John’s laptop. I skim through his blog while Molly converses with everyone else. I overhear her attempt at a morbid joke. “Don’t make jokes, Molly.”  _ Although that sounds like a joke I would make. _

“And John, I hear you’re off to your sister’s. Is that right?” Molly asks.

“Yeah,” replies John.

“Sherlock was complaining.” I give Molly a side-eye that translates to ‘don’t tell people what I told you in confidence, Molly.’ She takes it back. “Saying,” she adds quietly.

“First time ever she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.” John raises his glass, toasting to his sister being ‘clean.’  _ Wrong! I have to correct that. _

“Nope!” My lips overemphasize the ‘p.’

“Shut up, Sherlock,” John implores, agitated by my bluntness.  _ Gotta change the subject. But, what?  _ My eyes fall upon the bag of gifts.  _ Bingo! _

“I see you’ve got a new boyfriend, Molly. And you’re serious about him,” I declare with a smile.  _ I can’t resist teasing her. She knows I do it in good fun.  _ “In fact, you’re seeing him this very night, and giving him a gift!” My lips close tightly, and my hands clench into fists. My body is responding as if I am jealous.  _ Impossible. Can’t be jealousy. _

“Take a day off,” I hear John utter.

“Shut up and have a drink,” exclaims Lestrade.

I ignore both of them, and I continue. “Oh, come on! Surely you’ve seen the present at the top of the bag. Perfectly wrapped in a bow. All the others are slapdash at best.” I advance towards the gift to investigate further. Another puzzle to be solved. “It’s for someone special then. Shade of red echoes her lipstick, either unconscious association or one that she’s deliberately trying to encourage.” 

Molly tosses her hair with a shake of her head, and I see the nervousness in her face.  _ Come on, Molly! I’m teasing you. You’ve never been bothered by this before.  _ “Either way, Miss Hooper has looove on her mind. The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact she’s giving him a gift at all. That always suggests long-term hopes. Hopes however forlorn, and that she’s seeing him tonight is evident from her makeup and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…”

I finally look at the tag to prove that my deductions are correct.  _ So, what’s this lover boy’s name?  _

**Dearest Sherlock**

**Love Molly xxx**

I gasp quietly. It feels like my heart has stopped beating. I’m wrong. Very wrong. I feel embarrassed.  _ No, not embarrassed. Ashamed. I’m ashamed of myself. I hurt Molly. Why did I do this? Why does she make me feel guilty? I was only teasing….Does she...does she truly like me in that way? _

_ Why? _

“You always say such horrible things,” responds Molly, anguish and sadness grip her voice. It really pains me to hear it, but I listen. “Every time! Always, always…” Her last words are hushed. Disappointment. That’s what I hear. Betrayal.  _ I betrayed her. Betrayed our friendship. _

Siliva slips down my throat in a slow gulp. I look away from her. I can’t bear to see the expression on her face. I ponder whether or not I should go back in time and make this right.  _ Maybe I can make a better choice? No, I shouldn’t. _

I make the choice to stay and apologize. I stay because I want to live with the consequences of my actions. I stay because it’s the right thing to do. I stay for her. “I am sorry. Forgive me.” I move closer to her, and her eyes follow me. “Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper.” I feel the warmth of her skin as my lips lightly peck her cheek. 

_ I think this is the first time I’ve ever touched her. It feels...surprisingly okay. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Steven Moffat. I used dialogue from A Scandal in Belgravia for this chapter.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! 
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. November 19th, 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock needs to go back in time. He must put right the wrongs. He needs a second chance, and he needs someone to help him. For the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes is afraid of dying.

**November 19th, 2012**

**St. Bartholomeus Hospital**

**London, England**

  
  


_ Moriarty is back with another dangerous game. Two children, a boy and a girl, have been kidnapped. They are the son and daughter of the ambassador to America no less. The game is on! I scraped residue from the floor of their boarding school, the scene of the crime. Residue that contains oil traces of the kidnapper’s shoes. I need to conduct an analysis. Time is of the essence. Time to head back to my ‘home away from home.’ _

Once more, I convince Molly Hooper to assist me and John on a case. She starts to ramble on about how she went out with Moriarty for only three dates. A tedious conversation that I decide to end swiftly. “For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly.” 

I flash a bag of crisps in my face, baiting her to join me in the lab.  _ And it worked. _

Together, we identify the chemical traces.  **Chalk. Asphalt. Brick Dust. Vegetation.**

While I'm working, Moriarty seeps his way into my mind, taunting. “ _ I owe you a fall, Sherlock.” _

“IOU,” I mutter under my breath. A  _ feeling  _ creeps under my skin and travels to my eyes as I glance at John.  _ Will he turn on me? If Moriarty succeeds? _

“What did you mean IOU?” inquires Molly. “You said 'IOU.' You were muttering it while you were working.” 

I brush her off with a short answer. “Nothing. Mental Note.”  _ I can’t be bothered by her now. I need to focus. _

“You're a bit like my dad...he’s dead. No- sorry!” Another Molly Hooper tangent is something that I don’t have the time to listen to. I snap at her.

“Molly! I honestly don’t have time for a lengthy anecdote about your father or whatever Freudian slip you’ll surely blurt out. So either help with the analysis or leave me alone!”

“Fine...I’ll just leave then,” she says bitterly. Upon hearing the tone of her voice, I instantly regret my actions.  _ I did it again. I hurt her. _

She passes behind me after collecting her things. Before I can even attempt an apology, she interrupts me. “Forget it, Sherlock. This is what you want. Me out of the way. And, by the way, I saw you. You looked sad when you thought John couldn’t see you. Good luck, Sherlock.” She turns her back to me and, in a blink, she's gone. She leaves me floored. 

_ I should have taken the time to listen to her. _

_ How does she do that? All it takes is one word from her, and I start to feel off-balanced. Uneasy and bewildered.  _

* * *

**November 20th, 2012**

**The Roof of St. Bartholomeus Hospital**

**London, England**

  
  


_ How did it come to this? What did I miss? Where did I go wrong?! _

“You can torture me. You can do whatever you’d like to me, but nothing is gonna prevent my men from pulling the trigger.” Moriarty whispers in my ear. Threatening me. Taunting me to do it. “Your only three friends in the world I will die unless I see you jump!”

I release the lapels of his jacket as I stare down at the foreboding pavement below us. My heart is racing. For the first time in my life, I am truly afraid.  _ I don’t want to die. _

“Ingenious isn’t it? That new exposé reveals the great Sherlock Holmes is a fraud! I read it in the papers so it must be true.” His wicked grin makes me nauseous. As I stand on the ledge, I reflect on events that occurred before this moment. I ask myself what could I have done differently. I consider every possible course of action that can prevent this from happening. 

Right now, I have no allies.  _ I was too proud to turn to my brother.  _ And now, John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson are in mortal danger. _Damn me!_ _I_ _ t’s all my fault! _

_ Who can help me? Who would Moriarty least expect? _

Images flash in my mind. Dark brown hair. Purple latex gloves. A lab coat. And a smile that manages to make me feel  _ something _ …

“Molly,” I whisper out loud. Thankfully, Moriarty doesn’t hear. 

The new plan is now set in motion. I act quickly. My eyes spot the door that leads down the stairs.  _ It’s dark down there. Just a few seconds. That’s all I need! _

Without a moment’s hesitation, I dash towards the exit. Pushing Moriarty to the ground. I gain momentum with every push of my legs. Then, POP!

The sound of a gun echoes in my ears, and I feel a sharp pain in my right shoulder. I start to feel woozy as the blood begins to spill out of me. I slam the door shut with all my might, and close my eyes. The pain is excruciating, but I press forward. Clenching my hands. I picture where, no- when I want to go. The day prior. The day I chose to ignore Molly Hooper.

_ Take me back! I want to go back!!  _ _  
  
_

* * *

I open my eyes, and I am astonished to discover that the bullet wound has vanished. As I exhale, I fall to the floor in relief.  _ I’m alive. I’m uninjured. I can make things right! I have to! _

The day unfolds as it did before. I am in the lab analyzing the oils. With Molly by my side. This time I will listen to her.

“When he was dying he was always cheerful he was lovely, except when he thought no one else could see...You look sad when you think he can’t see you.” Molly maintains eye contact as I turn to face her. Although I anticipated her to say that, I am still baffled by her observation.  _ How did she see that? _

“Are you okay- and don’t just say that you are because I know what that means. Looking sad when you think no one can see you.” My eyes are fixed on her as she speaks. It’s like she’s not just speaking to me. She’s speaking to my soul. 

_ It... frightens me. No one has ever looked at me like she is at this moment. _

My pulse elevates, but I mask it well enough for her to remain unaware of the change. My curiosity begs for more. And so I respond. “But, you can see me.”

“I don’t count,” she replies with a shy smile and averts her eyes. She doesn’t want to look at me after confessing how she feels.

I look upon this small woman in disbelief. I struggle to comprehend why she said that.  _ How could you possibly think that way, Molly? Don’t you know how I… _

My thoughts are interrupted. “Look what I’m trying to say is that if there’s anything you need. Anything at all. You can have me.”

“But what could I need from you.” I shield myself with the pretense of ignorance. I know that I need her, but I can’t be too revealing. Being a time traveler is risky. No one can ever know my secret. Not John. Not even  _ her. _

“Nothing. I don’t know. You’d probably say thank you actually.”

I force the words out as if I’m trying to speak for the first time. “Thank you.” 

“I’m just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything- that’s okay I know you don’t.”

_ I want you to see what I see when I look at you. I want you to know that you do count. _

“Actually, maybe I’ll-”

“I know you don’t.”  _ She remembered something so trivial that I mentioned a year ago. Remarkable. _

She leaves me speechless. I never thought it was possible. I am a man that can scan a person and tell you what they had for breakfast or how they commuted to work. But, Molly. She can look at a person and tell you how they  _ feel.  _ She looks past the exterior. Looks past the walls a person builds up to protect themselves. She shatters them. She can see them. All of them. The good and the bad and everything in between.

_ What is it that I’m feeling? Surprise or shock? No, it’s something much more profound. It’s...admiration… _

* * *

No matter how hard I try to explain myself or attempt an alternative course of action. The same events occur before my very eyes. The accusations. The arrest. John and I are on the run. I can’t change it. I can’t persuade Lestrade or Anderson or Donovan. I can’t stop Moriarty from planting that seed of doubt. 

_ Another fixed point in time. Some things are impossible to change. No amount of time traveling can manipulate your destiny. I must confront Moriarty. We are two halves of the same coin. Yin and Yang. He is my equal- No! He is my greatest test. A test I must pass. To do so, I must attempt the impossible. How can I cheat death? _

“There’s something I need to do,” I say out loud. Kitty Riley’s article is fueling the flames that Moriarty ignited. Everything. Every action. Every decision has led to this one moment. This one choice. 

“What? Can I help?” asks John, gasping in fear at the gravity of the situation.  _ You can’t help me, John. You already have a target on your back. I need someone else.  _

“No, on my own,” I reply as I walk away. Inside, I’m truly terrified. I need to be decisive and exact. This plan has to work. No time travel this time. Time to be Sherlock Holmes. 

As I walk down the road, I text my brother.

_ It’s time that we had a chat, brother mine- SH _

_ This should be interesting. Where shall we meet?- MH _

_ St. Bart’s. Twenty minutes- SH _

* * *

I see Molly head for the exit after turning off the lights. I wait in the shadows. I had been waiting for only a few minutes.  _ Those minutes felt like an eternity! _

“You’re wrong you know,” I state, hearing her jump with fright. “You do count. You’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you. But, you were right. I’m not okay.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she requests. I see the determination in her eyes. She’s willing to help. To jump into the mouth of hell with me. I advance closer to her.

“Molly, I think I’m going to die.”

I see the worry in her eyes. Pools of brown that yearn. “What do you need?”

I need to be sure that she’s the one. The one who can save me. “If I wasn’t everything that you think I am. Everything that I think I am. Would you still want to help me?” It’s all or nothing. This question has a finality to it. If she says yes, there’s no turning back. If she says no, I don’t know who else to turn to.

“What do you need?” And so she remains next to me. Unwavering and resolute. Nothing can change her mind. Another turn of fate.  _ She's the one. _

With each step, I close the gap between the two of us. I feel as though my heart has stilled. She’s so earnest. So strong-willed. So giving.  _ I don’t deserve you.  _ And yet, I step closer. My eyes pleading. 

_ I need you. I need you. I need _

“You,” I breathe. 

“Sherlock-”

I can’t take it anymore. My arms wrap around her middle, and I draw her head to my chest. I refuse to let go. I feel her arms reach around. Her hands press against the small of my back. My breathing slows down as I squeeze tighter. 

_ Sometimes, I surprise myself. As hard as I try to detach myself from feelings, I have to accept the fact that I am, indeed, human. I need comfort. I’m scared. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Hold me. Comfort me. Stay with me. Please don’t go.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Stephen Thompson for the dialogue taken from Reichenbach Fall for this chapter.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! Stay tuned for the next update.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. October 15th, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally discovers the truth about his feelings. But, can he handle his emotions?

  
  
  
**October 15th, 2014**

**Madrid, Spain**

I’m a ghost. I’m ‘dead.’ There are a select few who know the truth. I don’t know when I can return to England. _Will I ever go back?_

Time travel. Something that I bury deep inside myself. I refuse to do it. I don’t need time travel. Not right now at least. In my pursuit of dismantling Moriarty’s network, my journey leads me to Madrid. 

A cafe. A file to peruse. I take a sip of my coffee, then a shadow obstructs my view of the document that I’m reading. A voice. So seductive and charismatic. _I know that voice._

“I never expected you to see you here, Mr. Holmes. I suppose it’s fate.” I look up to see red lips and green eyes.

“Ms. Adler. A pleasure to see you again.” My mouth matches the smile on her face. The _Woman. What does she want?_

“A shame what happened to dear Jim.”

“Mm, indeed,” I reply, dripping with sarcasm. The Woman helps herself to the chair across from me and takes a bite of my toast. “Oh please, finish it.”

“So, we now have another thing in common. We’re both ‘dead’ as far as the world is concerned. How does it feel?” She bites her bottom lip as she looks me up and down. Scanning me. Checking me out. _Most disturbing._

“Delightful,” I say dryly. Her eyes haunt me once again, and my heart starts to race.

“Really? I thought you’d be devastated. You left behind your soul mate. Dr. Watson.”

“He is the best man I have ever known, but he’s not my lover, Woman.” She looks at me with suspicion. My eyes tell her that she’s wrong. It’s the truth. John is my dearest friend and confidant, but I don’t love him _that_ way.

“Then, tell me, Mr. Holmes. Who is she?” Her grin stretches wider as she notices my reaction. I choke on my coffee, the liquid spilling onto my trousers. The hot coffee burns, and I flinch. 

_How does she know?_

“What makes you think that I have a ‘she’?”

“Call it a woman’s intuition...No, wait. Don’t tell me. Is it...the little mouse that’s at your heels in the lab?” She chuckles, and my hands clench in anger. _How dare she speak that way about her._

“Mind your tongue, Ms. Adler. She’s a far better woman than you.” I soon realize how I sound and I shake my head in disbelief. _What am I saying?_

“I was right then. Hmm, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“The day you’d see what?”

Another laugh escapes her lips. “Oh my dear Sherlock, I’ll leave you to your deductions.” She rises from the chair and makes her way into my space. I feel her place a small peck on my cheek. “Till next time,” she whispers in my ear. Her breath makes me shudder. And just like that, Irene Adler is gone, and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again.

* * *

**November 3rd, 2014**

**The Diogenes Club**

**London, England**

“Are you paying attention, Sherlock?” My brother, Mycroft, leans over his desk and glares at me. I honestly don’t understand why he is so agitated. I’m ready to take on his case. My focus just so happens to be elsewhere. I need to let John know I’m alive. I need to let all of my _friends_ know that I’m back.

“Rest assured, Mycroft. I’ll look into your terrorist network.”

“Have you ever… ‘traveled’ since you’ve left London?” Mycroft raises his eyebrow. _What is he playing at?_

“I’m not sure what you’re insinuating, brother mine.”

“Well, I’m sure there were some _friends_ of yours that you would've wanted to visit. Inconspicuously, that is.” I see him smirk, and my heart starts to pound faster.

_I can’t tell him that I visited and kept myself hidden in the shadows. I can’t tell him that I’d traveled in time to check on John and Molly. I saw that John found someone to love. Mary, I think her name was. From what I observed, I liked her. Good choice, John._

_I saw Molly visit my grave from time to time to talk to me. 'Work's the same. Boring without you,' she said. And yet, I sensed that there was something she didn't want to tell me._

_I observed their lives from afar. Continuing without me. During all that time, I realized…_

_I missed them._

_Very much._

  
  


* * *

  
  


**November 4th, 2014**

**221B Baker Street**

**London, England**

_This is it. I’m going to ask her. God, help me. Why am I so nervous? It’s only a simple question. It’s not a big deal. Is it?_

I’m facing the window, staring at the people that stroll along Baker Street. Then, I hear footsteps. Getting louder. Someone is getting closer. _She’s here!_

“You wanted to see me?” I hear her ask behind me. A warm feeling permeates my body upon hearing her bright voice _._

Nerves get the better of me. I turn around. “MOLLY! WILL YOU SOLVE CRIMES WITH ME?” I blurt out loudly. She looks at me with wide eyes, and my face flushes. _Damn. How humiliating!_

“Umm. Excuse me for a moment!” I retreat to my bedroom for another go at it.

* * *

  
  


“You wanted to see me?” _Why am I still anxious? I knew what she was going to say._

I turn to face her. I see her eyes. Those dark brown eyes. I missed them. Really missed them. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“What?” Her cheeks burn bright pink, and gooseflesh rises on my neck.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” My jaw is slack, looking like a complete fool. Embarrassing myself once again. “Be right back!”

_Three times a charm._

* * *

“You wanted to see me?” Here we go again. This time, the nerves subside.

“Yes!” I say exuberantly as I look at her. “Molly-” I take a step towards her.

“Yes?” she inquires as she fiddles with her gloves.

“Would you,” I stammer as I walk forward. Taking a gulp. Hesitant. _I don’t want to mess this up again._ “Would you like to solve crimes?”

I hear her say ‘Have dinner?’ as I ask. _Have dinner? With Molly? Doesn’t that mean sex? At least, that’s what the Woman meant by that phrase. What does Molly mean?_

_What do you mean?_

* * *

  
  


Our day has come to an end. Then, I see her ring. An engagement ring. _You can’t be mine. You can never be mine. But-oh, I want you to be mine. I want you all to myself. Yes, I know it’s selfish. Forgive me, Molly. I don’t know what I’m feeling. All emotions, especially love, are abhorrent to me...and yet….you make me feel real. You make me feel like I’m just a man. An innocent man. A good man._

“After all, not all the men you fall for can turn out to be sociopaths?” 

“No.” She shakes her head, and I do the same.

“No.” I close the gap between us. Staring into those eyes that I had missed so. I see her eyes. There is fear in them. _What do you have to be afraid of Molly? It’s only friendship, right? That’s all. That’s all…_

_No!_

All rational thought escapes me. I lunge for her. My hands cradle her face as I press my lips to hers. Then, deeper, hungrier. A hunger I can’t control. Her fingers are running through my hair. She’s warm. So warm. I open my mouth, and Molly slides her tongue inside. I shudder from this new sensation. It feels so good. I don’t want it to end. Everything feels so right. Like her mouth was meant for mine. In this moment, we are one.

Finally, our lips part, my hands still holding her face. Both Molly and I are gasping for air. Pupils dilated. Pulse elevated. _The chemistry is simple._ Tears are streaming down her face, but she’s smiling. _What a strange contradiction._

“Sherlock,” she cries softly. I stroke my thumb gently over her lips, begging her not to say anymore. _Let the moment last a little longer._

_“Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.”_ Mycroft’s voice of reason echoes in my brain. _No! I want this, Mycroft!_

_“Sherlock, what can you offer this woman? You’ve dedicated your life to your work. How can you possibly commit yourself to any romantic relationship? Be a grown-up, brother mine. Let her go…_

_He’s right... I can’t do this. It’s not fair to Molly. I don’t think that I’m capable of giving her what she wants._

My body is shaking, pleading for me not to take it back. My eyes close and I bow my head so that our foreheads touch. Molly’s hand is stroking mine. “I’m sorry, Molly. This was a mistake. Forgive me,” I whisper to her. My words are like a poison. I feel like I’m slowly dying. 

She forces a laugh, melancholy and breathy. “Sherlock? What do you mean? I’ve waited for so long-”

I find the will let go of her and flee to the broom closet down the hall. Locking the door behind me. 

I hear a hand pounding on wood. Frantic pounding. “Sherlock, please! Let’s talk about this. I love you! I love you so much. Please don’t do this!”

I feel tears well up in my eyes, and my heart (yes, I actually have one) is breaking. “I know, but I can’t,” I whisper. Through the tears, I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists. “I’m doing this for you. I have to let you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Mark Gatiss for the dialogue taken from The Empty Hearse for this chapter
> 
> I know, it's a super angsty ending to a chapter! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Stay tuned to see what happens next!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	7. May 17th, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mary's wedding day is finally here!

**May 17th, 2015**

**The Orangery at Goldney Hall**

**Bristol, England**

  
  


_Today is the big day. I am delighted for this happy occasion. And I’m also dreading it._

_Delighted because my best friend is marrying a wonderful woman. Lovely Mary. She has become a good friend to me, in her own right. May John continue to deserve her._

_Dreading because, once John and Mary become man and wife, I will really be alone. I won’t have a flatmate to talk to. What shall I do with my time when I’m not working? Chat with Mrs. Hudson? As wonderful as she is, I can’t rely on her for companionship._

_My best friend is moving on. And Molly-_

_She’s moved on too. Engaged. Another wedding to attend. Another event to remind me of my loneliness._

_Months had passed since I had erased the kiss from Molly’s memory. Seven months ago to be precise. In that hallway, I decided to kiss her cheek on our second time around. My lips were so close to her mouth, tempted to touch those pink, soft lips once again. But, no. Instead, I showed restraint, leaving her in that hallway. Leaving behind what might have been._

_And then I met...Tom. Why, Molly? Why him? A man with limited intellect but even temper. Stable job, but boring nonetheless._

_She could do so much better!_

_I-I could have done better._

_It was my choice to let her go. My decision…_

_So why is my mind flooded with conflict?! Damn. Damn. Damn!_

* * *

John and Mary Watson’s wedding has been blessed with beautiful, sunny weather. I do my best to be patient as wedding guests greet the happy couple as they enter the reception hall. The contrived ‘congratulations’ and ‘best wishes’ become tiresome, but, through it all, I see Mary maintain a brilliant grin. _Is there anything that woman can’t do?_ I smile as I look on with admiration.

Little Archie makes me winded as he runs into me for a great, big hug. He squeezes me tightly, making it difficult for me to breathe. His affection takes me by surprise. _It was only a brief meeting._ _All I did was convince him to do his duty as the ring bearer…. While baiting him with some pictures. Pictures that he should never tell his mum about._

As I gently peel Archie off of me, my eyes are drawn to something- no, someone across the courtyard. She’s wearing yellow. An _energetic_ shade of yellow. I see an enormous bow wrapped around her hair in an updo. _Molly, how is that you manage to look ridiculous and beau- well at the same time? You continue to confound me._

* * *

A bright light flashes in the faces of unsuspecting guests, creating a strobe light effect. From couple to couple, the photographer makes his rounds, taking picture after picture. The blinding flash is very distracting. The photographer then turns his attention over to a lovey-dovey couple. They’re kissing. Quite a lot. It’s Molly and _Tom._ My eyes follow them as I walk about the room. “She’s being so overly affectionate. Is she compensating for something?” I mutter under my breath.

_“Jealous?”_ I hear John say inside my head. _Shut up, John!_

“Sorry, whatchya say?” I had forgotten that Janine, Mary’s maid of honor, is right next to me. Panic sets in.

“Nothing of consequence.” I recover from the blunder in a speedy fashion, praying that she doesn’t think further into it. Her lips purse, her curiosity growing. She scans across the room, searching for what grabbed my attention. Molly soon catches her eye.

“Oh, _I see._ Okay, then. My mistake.” A knowing smile spreads across her face, and she changes the subject. A waiter passes by. “Ohh, he’s handsome. What about him? Worth my time?”

* * *

“Pray, silence for the Best Man!” Polite applause erupts from the wedding party and the wedding guests. I stand up slowly and take a deep breath. As I look out into the crowd, I can feel my nerves starting to rattle me.

_I’m nervous. I’m rarely nervous! This isn’t rational. There is no reason to feel this way. It's just a speech. And yet..._

There’s a slight tremor in my hands. I put them behind my back, hoping that the shaking will cease. My throat feels dry as I speak. “Ladies and gentlemen. Family and friends. And uh...others…” From the corner of my eye, I see Molly. She looks concerned. _She knows how I feel. She can sense it._ “I-uh...excuse me for a moment!” 

I rush out of the ballroom. _I need a breather! I’ve never made a public speech before. With actual people actually listening._ I collapse to the floor, resting my head against the wall behind me. Eyes closed. Breath labored. I’m not sure what to do. _I feel lost. Can’t think of a solution._

“Sherlock?” I open my eyes, and I see Molly standing next to me. She kneels so that she’s eye-level with me. I avoid making eye contact, too ashamed to look at her. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. You have the cue cards we made together, right? Remember that day? You, me, and Mary?”

“Yes, yes. I remember. I just- I’ve never done this before, Molly. Talking to _people_ isn’t my strongest suit, and it doesn’t help knowing that there’s a crowd of them out there waiting to see me make a fool of myself.” 

She gently rests her hand on my knee. I turn to face her and see that she’s smiling at me. _She tends to do that a lot._ “Sherlock, the secret to public speaking is to not let the crowd bother you. Pretend that they aren’t there.”

“But, they are there!” I argue.

“Then, find one person. Focus on that one person as you speak. It could be anyone. Mrs. Hudson, Greg-”

“Who?”

“Lestrade,” she replies flatly.

“Oh, right.”

“Or…me,” she adds shyly. I take a dramatic gulp as I stare at her. Fear crawls back into my mind. I think about the kiss we shared, and then I remind myself that I’m the only one who remembers. As far as Molly knows, we agreed that we couldn’t go on cases together. We couldn’t be alone together. She would consider it cheating. Like she was betraying Tom _._

_“But, you can’t do this again, can you?_ ” _I said when I relived the day. It was such a good day. Two times, I witnessed Molly’s mind at work. She identified the age and gender of the skeleton just from a glance, and we both deduced that the skeleton couldn’t have been more than six months old. Twice, I saw her smile when I cracked a joke, and I saw her give me a stern look when I was being an arse. As the days rolled by, I considered going back to that day. Just to relive those moments. Those tiny, but important moments._

“You’re so right. Thank you, Molly Hooper.” I press a soft kiss to her lips. “Time to try this again. Ta!” I leave Molly bewildered. I flee to the coat closet. Lights off. Hands fisted. 

_Best Man’s Speech Take Two._

* * *

“First order of business. Telegrams!” Molly’s advice is working. Whenever I feel fear sinking in, my eyes move to her. _Amazing how such a simple action makes all the difference_. I lock eyes with Molly, and instantly I feel at ease. I surprise myself as the speech continues. The guests are practically in tears when I express my admiration for John. I don’t understand why they’re all crying. I wish that they’d cheer up a little bit. That would help lighten the mood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses and be upstanding!” The guests rise from their chairs as requested. “To John Hamish Watson and Mary Elizabeth Watson. The two people that are the reason why every one of us…” 

_The Mayfly Man! My latest case that I didn’t solve. That woman. She knew John’s full name! She must have seen the invitation. That means that the Mayfly Man is..._

“Here today.” My champagne flute slips out of my hand and shatters to the ground. I am not sure how much time I have left, but I need to find out who is the target.

_The Game is On!_

* * *

  
  


_John and Mary’s wedding should be considered as one for the history books. Filled with chapters like the following:_

_A crime unfolds as the festivities begin:_ _Of course, the Mayfly Man smartly hid behind a camera to commit the crime. Hidden in plain sight. Ingenious! That is until I uncovered the truth._

_A Sign of Three:_ _Mary is pregnant! Change of appetite, weight gain, and moodiness. All of the signs were there. I suppose I angered John when I revealed the happy news. He is a doctor after all. Maybe he didn’t see it coming because he was just so happy to be marrying Mary. Seems like the most logical explanation…_

The music is blasting. I see Mary and John dancing, blissfully happy at the thought of their first child coming into the world. I stand alone, searching for someone to dance with. _Molly. Where is Molly?_ I can’t find her. Janine comes into my line of sight. Maybe I can dance with her for a song or two. Before I can step forward to join in, she points to that nerdy gentleman I pointed out earlier when I was trying to find the Mayfly Man’s target. 

Now, my heart feels heavy. John has Mary, and Molly has Tom. And I have no one. _“That’s all your doing. If you didn’t take back that kiss, she could’ve been yours.” I hear John say in my head._

_“Shut up, John! It was my choice!”_

_“Yes, but at what cost, Sherlock?” he says back to me._

“I can’t stay here.” My words fall on deaf ears. No one can hear me over the loud music. I slowly exit the ballroom. Everyone is so happy. This is a happy occasion after all. I should be happy, but I’m not. 

I’m miserable. 

When I make it outside, I wrap my coat around me. Burying how I feel. Burying it deep. I try to delete it but to no avail.

_My choice. My decision. My-_

“This is ridiculous!” I yell to the heavens. “I’m a time traveler! Screw this.”

Rewind. Rewind. Turn back time.

I’m back in the ballroom. This time with single-minded determination. 

_Where is she? Where is she?_

I hear a lovely little laugh behind me. I turn to look. _There she is. Dancing with Tom._

One breath is all I need to buck up the courage to step forward. “Excuse me,” I raise my voice over the music. I not only get Molly’s attention but the attention of Tom, Mrs. Hudson, and other wedding guests. I gulp from embarrassment and continue to speak. “Tom! May I...cut in for a dance or two?” 

Tom looks back at Molly and nods. “Yeah, I suppose. Why not.” He gives her a tender kiss before letting her go. 

_I’ve never danced with a woman before._ As we begin to dance, I feel like a child. An innocent boy who doesn’t know what to do. Somehow, Molly doesn’t notice this. Instead, she smiles and moves her body in various silly ways, making me crack a smile. I start to play along and follow her moves. She laughs at my attempt, and then she takes my hands. We both jump slightly as our fingers intertwine. Like an electric shock jolted us. 

The music changes. Slower and sweeter. A duet of guitars, and then a drum kit joins in. “I know this song. I’ve heard it before,” I say to her. 

“It’s Yellow by Coldplay,” she replies. Then, Molly surprises me once again. She takes my left hand and guides it to the small of her back. Next, she lifts my right hand, our fingers still laced together. _She wants to slow dance...with me._

My heart races as she leans her head against my chest. “It’s only one song, Sherlock,” she whispers. “There’s no harm in that.”

“No,” I say softly. “No harm at all.” We sway gently back and forth as the music plays. I hear the lyric “ _You know I love you so_.” And apprehension sneaks in. But, I feel Molly squeeze my hand, encouraging me to stay. So, I do.

“ _For you, I’d bleed me myself dry. For you, I’d bleed myself dry. It’s true. Look how they shine for you…”_

“ _Look how they shine for you_ ” repeats like a mantra. Molly lifts her head up. I see her eyes. Those big, brown eyes. Her eyes are glossy. _She’s crying. Why is she crying?_

Before I can ask her why, I feel a tap on my shoulder. “All right then, chap. Mind if I dance with my future bride?” Tom asks. I face Molly once again and see her drying her eyes. Her makeup is smudged but it’s hardly noticeable. 

“Right, of course,” I reply. Tom cuts in front of me. Slowly, he moves her to the other side of the ballroom while they dance. Inching further and further away from me. Molly’s eyes remained fixed with mine even as the distance between us widens. I give her a gentle smile and a nod. As if to say “It’s okay.”

She breaks eye contact and turns her attention to Tom. 

I'm rooted like a tree. I have yet to move. I don’t want to move. I just want to watch her dance. I don’t know why. I just do...

**Artwork by RN Laing<https://nabluebox.wixsite.com/rnlaing>**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Moffat, Gatiss, and Thompson for borrowed dialogue from "The Sign of Three"
> 
> Thank to RN Laing for giving me permission to use her artwork for this chapter!! <3
> 
> Yup! I finally did a fix-it scene! Yay!!!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the next chapter! :)


	8. September 12th, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is feeling lonely, so he visits his favorite bolthole...

**September 12th, 2015**

**Molly Hooper’s Flat**

**London, England**

Rustling under the covers, I try desperately to get to sleep. My flat has been so quiet lately, and I crave change. Stagnation irritates me. That’s why I chose to stay at Molly’s flat tonight.

As I lay in bed, I can smell hints of vanilla and cinnamon. The ingredients in Molly’s shampoo. I inhale the scent, drinking it in. It relaxes me. Calms me. And gradually I drift off to sleep….

“Sherlock?!” Molly’s voice rings in my ears, jolting me awake. I pull down the covers from my face to find Molly (blouse slightly opened and hair somewhat a mess) and Tom (no shirt and his trousers’ zipper undone) staring at me. The shock renders me mute. “What on Earth are you doing in my bed?!” Her cheeks are bright red, and her eyes see through me. Piercing me. Penetrating me.

“Jesus Christ!” Tom exclaims as he zips up his trousers and turns Molly’s body away from me, preventing me from looking at her in her exposed state. _Does he honestly think that I’ve never seen her like that? Please. I stayed here before my two-year hiatus!_ “Oi, mate! What do you’re doing here? This isn’t your flat.”

I sit up and fiddle with the covers, bidding some time for me to collect my thoughts. I feel my throat tighten as I start to speak. “First of all, I’m not your mate, _Tom._ Secondly, Molly knows perfectly well that I have a key to her flat. This is one of my boltholes after all. Thirdly, I’m- I’m sorry that me sleeping here has interrupted your... _plans_.”

I observe Molly narrowing her eyes as she stares at me. “Tom,” she says sharply. “Can you please give me a moment with Sherlock...alone?” She turns her head to look at him, waiting for him to honor her request.

“But, I- Molly, are you sure?” he flusters in his reply.

“Quite sure. It’ll only be a minute. I promise.” She’s looking at him so lovingly that it makes my stomach tighten into knots for some reason. Tom nods his head and gives her a kiss before leaving. Not a just peck though. His kiss is deep and possessive. _He wants me to know that she’s his._ I avert my eyes so I don’t give Tom the satisfaction he’s looking for. 

The door closes, letting me know it’s safe to look. I see Molly’s arms are crossed, and the face she’s making reminds of when she first discovered my drug habit. The hurt. The confusion. The anger.

“Sherlock, when I ask this question, I want you to answer truthfully. Don’t try to dance around the question or add a dramatic flair. Just a simple response. Are we clear?”

I nod in agreement.

“Good. Now tell me, what’s the real reason why you’re currently under the covers in _my_ bed?”

I sigh heavily. “Molly, it’s far too quiet in my flat! John is with Mary, and I barely see Mrs. Hudson as it is. Not that I’m interested in all her comings and goings. And that fact that I don't have a case right now isn’t helping me either. I need something to do!”

She looks at me perplexed. “So...you decided to sleep in my bed?”

“No! I just- I didn’t want to be alone.” There’s that word again. Alone. Such a negative word. Well, it seems negative to me now. It wasn’t always that way. There was a time in my life when the word ‘alone’ had a positive connotation. 

“Sherlock, I’m sorry you feel that way, but you can’t just pop in here whenever you feel like it. I have a fiancé, and we like having our...privacy.” She raises her eyebrows at me.

“Privacy? What do you need privacy for?” I ask incredulously. Her eyebrows remain up, creasing her forehead. She’s glaring at me with a knowing glance that says ‘you know perfectly well what I mean by privacy, Sherlock.’ “Oh, right. Privacy. Yes. Um, sorry about that….Can I stay anyway?” I wear a cheeky grin, hoping it will win her over.

“No!” she responds quickly. We’re interrupted by a knock at the door. I see Tom’s face peering through as it opens.

“Molly, may I talk to you? In the sitting room, please?”

She glances back at me before answering. “Sure, love.”

The door is shut once again, leaving me alone in the bedroom. My mind, however, is intrigued by what they could be discussing. From the bed, I can hear a muffled voice, loud and angry. It’s Tom’s voice. I crawl out of bed and tiptoe over to the door, pressing my ear to the wooden panel and doing my best to remain silent as I eavesdrop.

“Why is it that whenever we’re trying to be intimate, it’s always Sherlock that gets in the way?!” I hear Tom exclaim. His voice sounds pinched, frayed even.

“Don’t exaggerate, Tom! It’s not all the time. You’re just upset about how often these things happen.” Molly sounds like she’s trying her best to be the calm one in this argument, but I sense that she’s holding on to that inner peace by a dangling thread.

“Because they do happen often, Molly. This is getting out of hand. It’s like you’d rather help Sherlock with a case than be with me.”  
  


“That’s not true!”

“Oh, but it is. I see the way you look at him. I saw how you danced with him at John and Mary’s wedding!”

“Tom, that was just-”

“Just what? A dance? I don’t think so!”

I hear something slam against a table. Balance of probability suggests that it’s Tom’s hand. Then, I hear soft sobs. A woman crying. _Molly._

“Tom, please. Can we- can we just talk this out?”

I can hear the front door open as Tom replies. “I’m going out. I need some air.” His voice sounds tired and dejected. 

The front door slams shut.

“Tom...Tom!” Molly cries out. 

I open the door slowly. Molly promptly turns to look when she hears me coming. I see that her eyes are damp and red, her mouth trembling. And I feel shame taking hold of me. “Molly, I’m-”

“Get out,” she states.

“But, I’m-”

“I. said. Get. Out!” She advances towards me. “Why do you spoil EVERYTHING!” 

After purging all of her frustrations out into the open, she collapses to the floor, weeping. Her cries getting louder. I carefully collect my coat and shoes as I make my leave.

A turn and a pull of the doorknob. I cross over the threshold and turn around to get one last look at Molly. Her head is buried in her hands. She’s hiccuping as she cries, shaky breaths in between sobs. She doesn’t see me. 

I feel a heavy, suffocating sensation in my chest as I look on, and my vision becomes blurred all of a sudden. I place a hand to my cheek and I feel dampness. _I’m crying too. Why am I crying? She’s the one that’s hurting, not me._

“I’m so sorry, Molly. I never wanted to hurt you,” I say softly as I shut the door. I don’t bother to check if she heard me or not. It doesn’t matter now.

Under the cover of darkness, I close my eyes and turn back time. 

_I’ll stay at 221B. I’ll try to tolerate the unrelenting silence. As long as it ensures your happiness, I’ll do it. I’ll do it for you…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Sherlock...
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter!


	9. October 20th, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock chooses to play with time. To make different choices. But, can he alter what is already predestined for him?

**October 20th, 2015**

**St. Bartholomeus Hospital**

**The Lab**

**London, England**

  
  


_It’s for a case! This is all for a case. I’m fine. I’m okay. I don’t need a drug test. I don’t need Molly to know that I…_

“Well, is he clean?” asks John as Molly forcefully removes her gloves. I close my eyes, dreading to see her face. I’ve disappointed her. I can _feel_ it. I sense it. 

She clicks her tongue before responding. “Clean?” 

My heart sinks as she walks over to me. “So, what shall I tell them?” 

Somehow, I find the courage to look her in the eye. “Whatever you feel you ought to tell them,” I say softly. 

Molly scoffs. “Oh, I see! You give me the big, dark eyes and the deep, deep voice, and I’m supposed to lie for you.” 

Before I can respond, a hand meets my cheek, whipping my head to the right. My jaw drops and my eyes widen. _She slapped me. Molly Hooper slapped me._

Just when I thought the pain had subsided, another slap whacks against my right cheek. And then another to the left side of my face. My face twinges and I release my breath. _Well, she’s incensed. Damn it._

“How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with, and how _dare_ you betray the love of your friends! Say you’re sorry.” Molly’s rage makes my stomach tie up into knots. I’m ashamed to admit that I’m in the wrong. And so the walls come up.

“Sorry your engagement’s over. Though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring.” My tongue is sharp, cutting like a knife. 

_She caused me pain. I wanted retribution._

_“You’re such a child, Sherlock. Always so emotional.” My brother’s cold voice echoes in my head._

_“Stay out of this, Mycroft!”_

_“As you wish, brother mine. But, I leave with this intriguing question. Why has Miss Hooper called off her engagement?.... Something to mull over, Sherlock.”_

  
  


_I'm going back! Giving myself a second chance. Praying that she won’t slap me this time…_

* * *

“Well, is he clean?”

“Clean?”

As Molly’s hand rushes towards my cheek, I swiftly grab hold of her wrist. She tries to free herself, but I’m stronger than her. “No,” I say gently. “Please don’t do that...I’m sorry.” Molly’s expression shifts from anger to a mixture of confusion and concern. She sees through me. _Can she sense that I knew the slap was coming? Can she read me that well?_

I glance down at the hand I’m grasping. Her left hand. With no engagement ring. “Why did you end it?” I whisper so only she can hear. 

Molly slips her wrist free from my grip and lets out a melancholy laugh. “You know why,” she mutters.

“No, I really don’t.” I narrow my eyes at her. I want a proper explanation.

“For Christ’s sake, Sherlock! Molly, is he clean or not?!” John snaps, growing impatient from waiting. 

“He’s far from clean, John. He’s high as a kite.” She starts to head for the exit as she answers him.

“Molly-” I say, hoping she would stop.

“Just leave me alone.” Her voice is tight like she’s holding back tears. The lab doors swing open and she leaves.

“What the hell was that all about?” asks John. 

“Nothing...nothing at all,” I reply.

_I don’t understand! It was just a question, Molly!_

_I took back the kiss. I took back that fight you had with Tom when I was at your flat. I thought I did everything right. Why are you mad at me?!_

* * *

**October 25th, 2015**

**Charles Magnussen's Office**

“Oh, Sherlock. If you take one more step, I swear I will kill you.”

_You’re bluffing, Mary. You have to be. I know you care about me. You’re my friend. The wife of my best friend. I know who you are._ “No, Mrs. Watson. You won’t-”

She pulls the trigger, and I feel the bullet lodge itself inside me. Time. I thought I had time on my side. Sherlock Holmes, the Time Traveler. _I think I’m going to die…_

_“You’re most certainly going to die. So, we need to focus.”_

_Molly...Help me...please..._

_“I said FOCUS!”_

Fall backwards. Find the will to control the pain. The hole ripped through me makes me convulse and scream. 

And then darkness. Everything unravels like a dream. I hear John’s voice. “We’re losing you. Sherlock!” 

I’m trapped inside my Mind Palace. Taunted by the looming figure of Moriarty. He still lives inside me. My demons, my regrets, my fears. He embodies them all!

“John Watson is definitely in danger.” _No! I can’t let my best friend down. Not now! I can help him. And I can help Mary. I must live! For them._

_I can’t die yet. I have to see her….I need to tell her...before I…._

* * *

“I know you can’t hear me, and that’s okay. For once, I get to do all the talking.” Molly stifles a giggle and my heart flutters. I can hear her. Every word. But, I don’t have the strength to talk or even open my eyes. All I can do is listen. Listen to her soft, sweet voice.

“So, you almost died. That was frightening- no, terrifying. It terrified me, Sherlock. The thought of losing you...it’s unimaginable. Earlier, you asked me why I ended it with Tom. The funny thing is I think you know why. Ever since that day. The day we solved crimes together. I felt like...You looked at me as if you were going to…”

Molly can't seem to finish her thought. It's like she’s afraid to say it out loud. _Say it, Molly. As if I was going to do what?_

“Nevermind. I’m just being silly, I guess. Anyways, I left you a ‘Get Well’ card and some flowers. I can see that someone else beat me to it. It wouldn’t be the first time.” I hear her rise from her seat. She leans over me. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafting through the air. Her hand feels so warm as it touches my forehead. She slowly runs her fingers through my hair. The sensation makes me feel... _tingly._ I start to feel a stirring in my lower extremities.

“I’ll be seeing you soon,” she breathes as she lowers herself closer to my face. Her soft lips meet my forehead. Her kiss is so tender, so delicate. So loving. Her lips pull away from my forehead, and I open my eyes. I want her to stay. Just a little bit longer.

Through my blurred vision, I make out the shape of what I believe is Molly. She’s opening the door to leave. I try to call out to her, but I don’t have enough strength to speak. My mouth moves and nothing comes out.

As time passes, my vision improves and my voice gradually returns.

In front of me on an end table, I see a single rose and a card with a ‘w’ initialed on it. _So the woman paid a visit? A pity that I didn’t get to hear what she had to say._

To my right, I find a fresh bouquet of daisies. Handsome, friendly-looking flowers. _Just like her._ Next to the vase is the ‘Get Well’ card that Molly mentioned. I manage to pick up the card despite the stiffness in my arm. 

A laugh escapes my lips, and my mouth starts to turn upwards into a smile as I read the inscription. 

_Dearest Sherlock,_

_I hope you make a quick recovery._ _~~I need you.~~ _ _We all need you feeling your best. The world is a much emptier place without Sherlock Holmes. Who else will take on London’s toughest cases? Who else can drive John mad? Who else can make me laugh? I know that it’s only been a week since the incident, but I truly do miss you._

_Anyways, I guess I ramble in my writings too! All I can hope and pray for is that you will soon find your strength again. Soon, you will confront the terrible monster that did this to you. You always win in the end, Sherlock. Always._

_~~Love~~ _

_Your loyal friend,_

_Molly xxx_

* * *

**October 30th, 2015**

**Charles Magnussen's Estate**

_I can’t turn back time. Not this time. Mary might make a different decision. What if she chooses to end my life right then and there? A shot straight to the head. Though highly improbable (considering her shot was meant to injure, not kill. It was surgery), I cannot take the risk._

_I see it through to the end. Mary and her secrets. Magnussen and his knowledge. And Appledore..._

“Oh, do your research. I’m not a hero. I’m a high functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas!” He can't hurt Mary anymore. She's safe now. A bullet to the brain. Bang! He’s dead. 

_I did it. I killed him._

_I killed a man._

* * *

**November 1st, 2015**

**The Tarmac**

“To the very best of times, John.” I extend out a hand. John accepts hesitantly. This may be the very last time I see my best friend. The thought weighs heavy on my heart as I board the plane.

As I sit on board, I wish for things to change. I don’t want to leave this way. _Wait a minute._ _I’m a time traveler, Goddammit! Of course, I can change this!_

* * *

“John, there’s something I need to tell you...You're not just my best friend. You're my brother. The brother I wish I had. Together, we’ve seen horrific and incredible things. Never forget that I love you, John. You helped me in ways that I cannot articulate.”

A laugh escapes his lips. “Well, I knew that already you clot. Of course, I love you. You’re my best friend...I wasn’t the only one, by the way.”

I furrow my brow in confusion. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m not the only one that helped you. I’d like to think that it was a team effort.” There’s a secret hidden in his smile. Fear stops me from inquiring further. _He knows about her...How did he figure it out? I still haven’t figured it out!_

* * *

Once again, I'm on the plane. Once again, I leave. Not knowing when I’ll return. If I’ll return. _I didn't get to see her. All I could do was write. A page filled with lies and hidden truths. Will she be able to tell the difference? Will she miss me?_

“I have to make a phone call!” I get the flight attendant’s attention. He passes me my mobile.

“Come on. Pick up. It’s _me_ calling.”

“Hi, Sherlock.” Molly finally picked up the phone, and I hear sadness in her voice.

“What is it? Why do you sound upset?”

“Because Mycroft was the one that told me about your _arrangement.”_

“Oh-”

“So you don’t come to see me before leaving for good! All I get is a letter! What the hell, Sherlock?!”

“Molly, I-”

“What? You’re sorry? You wish that you could go back and time and make things right?”

I gulp loudly. _She can’t know about my gift. It’s got to be a coincidence!_ “Molly, it’s not that I didn’t want to. It’s that-”

“What?”

“I was...scared. I didn’t know how to tell you-” I stop myself. _I’m revealing too much. This is all too much. I can’t handle it._ _I hate feeling this way._

“Tell me what, Sherlock?”

_I can’t tell you. I don’t know what it is! How can you tell you something that I don’t understand?_

I hear her sigh. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Have it your-” She stops herself in mid-sentence. Something else has her attention. 

“Molly? Molly, is everything okay?”

“Oh my God. OH MY GOD! NO! IT CAN’T BE!”

“Molly!” Silence on the other end. “MOLLY!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens! From here on out, it'll be canon divergence! Prepare yourselves! Muhaha!
> 
> Credit to Steven Moffat for dialogue from "His Last Vow" that was used in this chapter.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	10. November 1st, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Moriarty alive? Is Molly okay? Those were the thoughts that raced through Sherlock's mind. Little did he know that someone from his past would be making a return...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter will depict suicide attempts.

**November 1st, 2015**

**The Tarmac**

“Molly, please say something!” My heart is pounding so hard I fear it might explode.

“It’s him,” she whispers softly into the phone. “Moriarty’s back.”

I exhale in disbelief. I only muster one word in response. “What?”

_ No. NO! I saw him die. He blew his own brains out right in front of me.  _

“His face. It’s on the telly.”

“Molly, stay right where you are. Don’t move. Understand?” I pray that she heeds my advice. I need more data. There must be a logical explanation. 

“Yes. All right. I will. Promise.”

“Good.” I hang up the phone and holler at the flight attendant. “Turn the plane around! I have to go back!”

“But, sir. We were given strict orders to-”

“TURN THE PLANE AROUND!”

* * *

_ Mycroft convinced the pilot to comply with my request. And now I sit with him, John, and Mary on the plane. All of us are unsure about what may come next… _

John and Mary have the same look in their eyes. Confusion and distress. My brother, on the other hand, doesn’t have that same expression. His mouth is quivering subtly and his eyes are wide. It almost looks like he knows something and that something terrifies him. 

Mycroft helps himself to the seat next to me. “Apparently, the footage was altered. An attempt at convincing the public that James Moriarty has indeed risen from the grave.” 

Upon hearing this news, I quickly send Molly a text.

_ Fake video. Don’t panic. _

_ Also, don’t go anywhere either. At least not yet. - SH _

I tap my fingers on the armrest. Anxiously waiting for her reply.

“Sherlock, have you taken anything?” asks Mycroft sternly.

“Is this an interrogation? I’m clean! I’ve just come back from a five-minute exile!” I feel my mobile vibrate, and I quickly unlock it.

_ Oh, okay then. Please let me know when I can leave. Thanks- MH _

“Did you make a list?”  _ He doesn’t believe me. Why should I be surprised? This is Mycroft after all.  _

“A list?” John chimes into the conversation. I start to rub my temples as I become increasingly more annoyed.

“Whenever Sherlock falls back into his ‘habit’, he always makes a list of everything he’s taken.” I watch as Mycroft sighs.  _ He remembers seeing me at my lowest.  _ Shame finally creeps its way in, and I feel my stomach tighten into knots. 

“I’m not a drug addict. I’m a user. I alleviate boredom and occasionally heighten my thought processes. But, that’s not important! What’s important is that video. Who’s responsible?” My eyes flit to my brother, and the color drains from his face.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Yes, you do,” I retort. I can see it in his eyes. He knows exactly who sent the message.

John’s eyes dart back and forth between me and Mycroft. Meanwhile, Mary reclines in her seat. The baby’s weight has taken a toll on her body.

Dead silence fills the plane until my brother bucks up the courage to speak. 

“Eurus,” Mycroft breathes.

* * *

_ Eurus Holmes. My little sister. A demented creature. Absent of a soul. As a child, she frightened me. She drew pictures depicting my death (drowning, burning alive, poisoning). How delightful. _

_ Eurus had attempted suicide three times during her adolescence. First, she cut her wrists, gratefully they were shallow cuts. Then, she downed sedatives with a bottle of gin. The doctors were quick enough to pump her stomach, and she survived.  _

_ Her third attempt left an invisible scar on me and the rest of my family. A scar of trauma and sorrow. That night changed me. I became different after that. I began to feel...cold. _

_ Late in the evening on October 31st, 1995, Eurus had isolated herself in her bedroom after a spat with our mum. I remember hearing my parents argue. They were afraid of her. Eurus had become impossible to control. They were helpless. There seemed to be no hope left for my twisted sister. _

_ As my parents argued, I remember the scent of smoke pervading the air. A fire had started. It was coming from Eurus’s bedroom. Mycroft was the first one to discover it. His yells propelled me to rush to his aid. It was terrifying. The heat from the blaze. Smoke entering my lungs. Coughing, wheezing, struggling. _

_ We somehow managed to get Eurus out of there. By some miracle, not one of us was gravely injured from the incident. Only singed and desperate for fresh air.  _

_ After that horrid night, my parents had no choice but to send her away. Maudsley Hospital was her final destination. I never saw her ever again. The doctors enforced a strict ‘no visitors’ policy, claiming that Eurus was not ready. She was still a danger to herself and others.  _

_ She was only fourteen years old… _

* * *

“Who?” asks John and Mary simultaneously, bewildered and curious.

“Our sister,” replies Mycroft.

John’s eyebrows furrow as his gaze moves to me. “You never told me you had a-”

“She brought shame to our family, Dr. Watson,” interrupts Mycroft. “Would you willingly divulge sensitive information about your family to others? Information so horrible you can’t even imagine?”

John’s mouth opens, struggling to respond. Only air escapes his lips, and he shakes his head. 

“How’s that possible?” I inquire. “She’s completely isolated. Under twenty-four-hour supervision, cut off from the rest of the world. How could it be her, Mycroft?” My stare intensifies as I watch my brother fiddle with his umbrella, a despondent look stretched across his long face. His chest rises and falls in a slow, deliberate manner.  _ Is he trying to...control his emotions? _

“I believe it’s time I pay our dear sister a visit. I need to call Dr. Bartlett.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well... Where do we go from here? Stay tuned to find out ;)
> 
> Credit to Gatiss and Moffat for dialogue taken from The Abominable Bride.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	11. November 2nd, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sees his sister for the first time in twenty years.

**November 2nd, 2015**

**Molly’s Flat, The Sitting Room**

**London, England**

I hesitate to say anything further as I watch Molly sip her steaming cup of tea. She shifts her body to get more comfortable in her chair, and, for some reason, I too adjust how I sit on the sofa. Her sips are the only sounds to be heard (as well as the strong pounding in my chest, but only I am privy to that). _Will she respond? Does she think I’m mad? That I’m making everything up about my sister? Why won’t she speak, dammit?!_

“That must have been awful.”

Her voice disrupts my train of thought. “Hm?” I reply.

“Having a sister do that to herself. And then cause such destruction...She wanted to not only end her life but yours. And everyone else in that house.” She continues to delicately sip her tea upon finishing her thought. Her eyes wander to the floor, pensive and sad. 

_Considering the information I just disclosed, she seems to be taking it very well. John and Mary were very worried about the whole situation. Molly seems to be more reflective. Isn’t she just as worried?_

“Mind you, it’s all very worrying and confusing for me.” _It’s like she read my mind. “_ So you’re saying that the viral video is probably your sister’s doing and not Moriarty.”

I nod. “I don’t have conclusive data yet to confirm, but one thing is very clear: James Moriarty is dead. This isn't his work at play.”

Molly places her cup on the end table and folds her hands in her lap. “So what happens now?”

“Now, my brother and I are going to pay a visit to Maudsley Hospital. That’s where Eurus has been for the past twenty years. Her birthday had just passed this September, so she’s thirty-four years old now.” My heart stills from the thought of being isolated for twenty years. No one to talk to. No physical contact. Completely and utterly alone.

“What do you need?” she asks with concern. _Those words. Why’s her loyalty so constant? How can this woman be so understanding and so earnest? I guess I shall never know._

I smile at her and say, “I need to see my sister.”

* * *

**November 5th, 2015**

**Maudsley Hospital**

**Denmark Hill, Camberwell, London**

  
  


Dr. Bartlett is a rather peculiar looking man. Short and stout with a red face. Apparently suffers from OCD judging by his carefully brushed hair and his well-maintained nails, ergo a strict grooming ritual. He has a propensity to sweat under pressure. And under pressure he certainly is. I see fear in his eyes, but I haven’t yet deduced the reason. As we stand in the lift, Dr. Bartlett gives off an air of being _spooked._

Soon, we arrive at the basement of the hospital. A dimly lit hallway straight ahead of us. Dr. Bartlett leads the way, quickening his pace with each step. 

“You do realize I will get into a lot of trouble if the higher-ups find out about this,” states Dr. Bartlett as he leads me and Mycroft down the corridor, heading for Eurus’s private room.

“Do calm yourself, Dr. Bartlett. Rest assured that your job isn’t in jeopardy. Who do you think allowed us to enter undetected so that you could discreetly escort us to our sister?” replies Mycroft. 

The skittish doctor blinks and nods. “Right. That would make sense...Let’s roll on, shall we?”

At the end of the corridor, there are two armed guards blocking a door, standing at attention with blank expressions. Mycroft and I watch as Dr. Bartlett flashes his ID badge to request access to the room. The two guards glance at each other and nod in agreement. They slide away from the door, allowing us to enter. 

On a keypad, Bartlett punches in the passcode and unlocks the door. It creaks loudly as it opens automatically. Inside, I see her. My sister. My little sister. She’s playing the violin. 

_I remember. Eurus’s playing was unparalleled, a musical genius. She would compose late at night in bed. And she would win every student competition she entered. She was unstoppable back then._

For her safety and the safety of others, she’s kept behind glass. Six feet apart from us. I can’t come any closer. A yellow line divides me from her. As the three of us enter the room, I hear her playing accelerate, becoming agitated. When we stop walking, her playing returns to a smooth legato. 

“She’s playing Elgar,” I whisper. Her choice surprises me. Elgar’s music is so...sentimental. 

The music stops suddenly.

“ _Salut d'amour_.” Eurus’s voice is monotone, and she doesn’t make an effort to turn around to face us.

Mycroft and I share a double-take. “Sorry?” I reply, puzzled.

“The piece. It’s _Salut d’amour_ by Elgar,” she states in a restrained and quiet manner. “You got half the answer correct. Congratulations. It seems you have an ear after all.” Upon finishing her statement, Eurus finally turns around. 

My eyes grow wide as I gaze at her. My sister’s hair has grown so long. Her face is pale, and her eyes are so blue and sad. Though she may have matured, in her eyes, I see the little girl that used to sit across from me at breakfast. The damaged girl that hurt herself time and time again. The sister that threatened to kill me. 

“How are you feeling today, Eurus?” asks Dr. Bartlett, hiding his trembling hands behind his back.

She cocks her head to the side. “What a nonsensical question! You’re a doctor. Can’t you see that I’m well? I’ve been practicing for days on end this week. For you see, I knew my brothers would come and visit.”

“And how exactly _did you_ know that was going to happen?” interjects Mycroft, emphatically.

A sly smile spreads across her face. “Spoilers,” she breathes. “Back to the matter at hand. Do you know what _salut d’amour_ means?”

Mycroft moves his mouth to answer. “It’s Italian for-”

“I didn’t ask you!” snaps Eurus. Her eyes move to me. “I was asking Sherlock,” she adds with a strange air of calmness and glee.

I narrow my eyes, confused about the question’s relevance. “It translates to love salute or love salutation in English.”

“Precisely.”

“What does that have to do with our visit?” I inquire.

“Oh, Sherlock. My dear brother. I played that for you. I believe I’m correct in stating that you said hi to your love about three days ago, no?”

My jaw drops. _How could she have known that? But, Molly is not my…_

“Oh, so she’s not your love, is she? Interesting...Well, we’ll see about that.”

“Eurus, stop playing games! Are you ready to cooperate?” shouts Mycroft in frustration.

She sighs heavily. “You wish to know how I know, but it’s not a matter of how. It’s a question of when!”

My body freezes and my throat tightens. What Eurus said is making me _feel_ fear. Although I am not a mind reader, I sense that Mycroft is thinking the same thing as me. _Does Eurus know about the family’s secret? Does she know that we are time travelers?!_ “When? What do you mean?” I question, burying my feelings deep. _I can’t let her see._

“Yes. When did I know this was going to happen? I won’t reveal all my secrets, boys. But, I’ll leave you with this little puzzle:

Time goes by and Eurus ages. Like birds that are kept in cages. 

A boy grows up to be a man. His life, saved by a woman. 

James Moriarty sticks a gun in his mouth. Boom! He’s dead. 

So why is there a video circulating around from the north to the south? 

There’s a record log, detailing who comes in and out. 

So, how do I know what all of this is about? 

I’d start with the log. The game is on!” 

She turns her back on us once again and starts to play _Salut d’amour._

“She seems to be in a chatty mood today,” states Dr. Bartlett in a hushed voice as we make our leave. “She hardly ever converses with anyone, not since-”

The music stops playing and Eurus speaks, “Oh, and Sherlock! I recommend you get started on that puzzle soon. If not, the consequences may be...severe.”

The three of us choose not to breathe another word until we have left her room. The door slams shut behind us, but I can still hear Elgar’s melody, spilling from behind the door into the hallway. 

“What were you going to say, Dr. Bartlett?” asks Mycroft.

The doctor narrows his eyes for a moment, mulling over what their recent conversation had been about. “Ah yes, Eurus hasn’t talked to anyone else besides her doctor for the past six years. Ever since the...incident.”

“What incident? Tell us,” I ask sharply. 

Dr. Bartlett takes a beat, his mouth quivering. “You’d best take a look at the security footage.”

* * *

The hospital’s CCTV control room is more like a closet. A desk engulfed in papers and TV screens. One chair and one lamp. Its bulb blinking (clearly has yet to be replaced).

I watch intently as Dr. Bartlett skims through the security footage from 2009. Specifically January 13th, 2009. The footage shows nurses and doctors going in and out of her room. Until…

“Here!” he exclaims. “Right here. Take a look.” 

On the monitor, I see Eurus staring at a man dressed as a doctor. He’s slightly below the average height for a man, and his short, dark hair is slicked back. He gets closer and closer to the glass. His back is towards the camera, so I can’t see his face. Eurus seems like she is about to speak and then the screen blurs to static.

“That can’t be it!” says Mycroft. “Where’s the rest of the footage?” My brother’s knuckles whiten as he grips his umbrella tightly. _He’s angry with himself. He can’t believe this slipped past him. No one told him about this incident._

“There’s five minutes of static,” replies Dr. Bartlett, hushed. I lock eyes with my brother and tilt my head to the door. He nods, and we walk over for a brief, private conversation.

“We could go back,” I suggest quietly.

Mycroft’s eyes expand. “No, Sherlock. Absolutely not!” His voice is both soft and frantic.

“Why not?”

“Because we can’t. If you go back that far, your life may change drastically. You may return to a present that you won’t recognize. In that supposed present, perhaps you never met Dr. Watson...or Miss Hooper.”

My mouth gapes open as I try to reply. I consider the possibilities of how I can go back to that day and still keep my current life. _There has to be a solution!_

“There’s no possible way around it, Sherlock. You must move forward or risk losing everything you have!” The worry in my brother’s eyes unsettles me, like for the first time he’s considering my happiness. 

_He acknowledges what Molly and John mean to me._

“But it’s obvious that Moriarty’s involved!” I exclaim.

“Shh!” Mycroft makes me aware that I raised my voice. Dr. Bartlett looks back at us with a befuddled expression. I grin tightly and shake my head as if to say ‘no worries, nothing to see here.’

I consciously lower my voice. “You know it’s true. His height, his hair. It all fits. He must have said something to her that day. Something that motivated her to play this _game._ ”

“Be that as it may, we must strategize and investigate before jumping to conclusions. Let’s start by looking at the log. Her little _poem_ might be useful _,_ ” suggests Mycroft.

I nod in agreement, but I clench my hands, frustrated that I can’t observe that day.

_This is very important. I need to know what those two discussed!_

_But, I can’t risk losing them. I can’t lose John and Molly._

_I can’t imagine losing them… especially her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Oh, Eurus. What are you up to?
> 
> Did you catch my not so subtle nod to Doctor Who?
> 
> Big thanks to mizjoely for being my beta. And shout out to mychakk for giving it a read before I posted.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	12. December 24, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve, and Sherlock is desperate to unlock the secrets hidden in Eurus's poem. But, this is only the beginning of their 'game'

**December 24, 2015**

**John and Mary’s Flat**

**London, England**

_ Today is Christmas Eve. It’s been over a month since I visited Eurus. A month has gone by and I still haven’t solved the puzzle! I’ve been mulling over the Maudsley Hospital log. My eyes have grown tired from staring at name after name, date after date. So far, nothing of consequence has captured my attention. It’s infuriating! She threatened me. Warned me. Something’s coming, and it’s definitely not Moriarty. But, something’s coming. My little sister has started a dangerous game… _

* * *

“For God’s sake, Sherlock. It’s Christmas!” exclaims John as I continue to examine the hospital logs. Skimming and scanning for a clue. “Come away from the papers and help us with the tree or something. Just let that go for a moment. It’s becoming an obsession!”

“My sister’s up to something, John!” I snap at him. “I can’t just let it go. She threatened me. It’s evident that she wants to hurt…” I can’t seem to find the words to finish my statement, so I shake my head and return my attention to the log.

“Sherlock, love!” I hear Mary call out from the kitchen. “I’ve got some ginger nuts here. Wanna try one?”

My eyes light up.  _ She knows my weakness. _ I bite my lip, fighting Mary’s temptation. But, I give in. “Sure, Mary,” I say as I make my way to the kitchen. I see a sly smirk on John’s face when I pass by. “Shut up,” I whisper.

* * *

_ Time goes by and Eurus ages. Like birds that are kept in cages.  _

_ A boy grows up to be a man. His life, saved by a woman… _

“Sherlock?” Molly calls out to me, and Eurus’s voice fades away.

“Yes?” I reply quickly.

“So, what did you make of it?” she asks after taking another sip of eggnog.

I narrow my eyes. “Make of what?”

Molly snorts. “The case, silly! The one about the cardboard box. ”

My mouth opens, realizing that I had nearly forgotten what we were talking about. “Oh, yes! That one. It all began with the disappearance of Mrs. Julie Browner. Matthew Browner, her husband, was a member of the Royal Navy and apparently a raging alcoholic. Naturally, I surmised Julie's disappearance had something to do with her husband. Her sister, Susan Taylor, came to us, desperate to locate her sister. After our first meeting, Ms. Taylor was horrified to discover severed ears buried in salt inside a package that was sent to her address.”

“Ears!” exclaims Mary, cautiously taking a seat beside John. Now that she is seven months pregnant, her baby bump has made even the simplest of tasks difficult to perform. 

“Yes, ears. It was clear to me that a very serious crime had been committed.”

“And you asked me to run identity testing using a tissue sample from both ears,” adds Molly with a smile.

John’s eyes dart between me and Molly and a knowing grin forms on his face. I do my best to ignore it. “Yes, I did. Soon afterward, DNA results concluded that one of the ears belonged to Mrs. Browner and the other to an unidentified man. From that data, I deduced that Julie most likely had an affair with this man to escape her loveless marriage. Mr. Browner must have walked in on them...” 

_ Sex doesn’t alarm me!  _

_ “How would you know?” _

_ Shut up, Mycroft! I’m busy.  _ “On them...together. In an act of passion, Browner murdered Julie and her lover. Then, after realizing what he had done, he severed an ear from them both, and he mailed them to, who he thought was, Sara Taylor, Susan’s reckless younger sister who was in love with Mr. Browner. Those ears were supposed to be a message for her!”

“No!” interjects Mary, astonished.

“Oh, yes! You see, Sara moved out of Susan’s apartment a few days earlier, so Browner had no idea that Sara no longer lived there. So, once the package arrived, it was Susan who discovered it.”

“You forgot to mention who was really responsible for Julie's death,” adds John as he tenderly rubs his wife's back.

“Yes, yes. I was getting there, John.” I glare at him and continue. “Evidently, Sara’s love for Browner was borderline obsessive. She devised a plan to ruin her sister's marriage so that she could have Matthew all to herself. Through texts, phone calls, and other forms of social media, she planted seeds of doubt in Julie's mind about her husband's fidelity-”

Before I could finish, the doorbell rings, and everyone turns their attention to the door. Looks of confusion and curiosity flash on our faces. John furrows his eyebrows. “Were we expecting another visitor?” he asks his wife.

She shakes her head and starts to stand up. 

“No, no, I’ll get it,” says John. He kisses Mary on her forehead before he excuses himself from the room.

A moment later, Lestrade enters the sitting room with a polythene envelope in his hands; his face is sweaty. “Lestrade,” I say. “What brings you here?”

“Merry Christmas,  _ by the way, _ ” adds Molly, eyeing me with a look of disappointment. A look that most likely means ‘can you try to be nice.’ I raise my eyebrows at her, not understanding what was so terrible about my question.

Lestrade nods. “Merry Christmas to you as well.” His head turns to me. “Sherlock, you’re not gonna believe this,” he states, passing the envelope to me. “It was delivered to the station just now.” I read the front label as I take it from Lestrade’s hands.

_ For Sherlock Holmes _

_ Did You Miss Me?  _

_ From a Friend _

I carefully open it, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. Inside, I find… “What on Earth?” I mutter under my breath. I empty the contents onto the nearest table. 

A letter, moldy cherries, two dead bees, and a human thumb. 

I gently grab the letter and begin to unfold it.

“Sherlock, what the hell is all this?” asks John, concerned. I don’t answer him. I feel my mouth become dry and my pulse elevates.  _ I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t like not knowing. _

“Read it,” Mary requests. “Please read it out loud. This is all too bizarre. I think all of us have a right to know what’s going on, Sherlock!” 

I give a firm nod and let out a quiet gasp when I glance at the message. Despite my apprehension, I say what’s written.

_ “Dear, dear Sherlock, _

_ It seems like poor Dr. Bartlett couldn’t keep his mouth shut, so I decided that his usefulness had run its course. Please keep his thumb as a souvenir. You might just need it later. _

_ As I understand it, you like to repress your emotions to refine your reasoning. I’d like to see how that works, so I’m going to add a little context to our game. The items I have sent to you are your only clues regarding what I have planned. Let’s see how clever you are. Can you deduce what each represents? Come on, clever boy! I want to see you dance. _

_ Our first game involves corporate mogul, Culverton Smith. Unbeknownst to the public, he’s a diabolical serial killer. If you can prove it, you win and move on to the next puzzle. If you can’t, I’ll kill Mary Watson. Have fun, brother mine. _

_ Ta!!!!!” _

After finishing the letter, I glance at Mary. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is trembling. John’s hands are on her shoulders; he’s doing his best to comfort her. Her reaction has triggered an  _ emotional  _ response. My body’s betraying me. I feel my hands clench, my fingernails digging into my palms.  _ I’m angry. Seething! How dare she threaten Mary? My friend. My friend!  _

A gentle touch catches me off guard. I look down and see hands enclosing my fisted ones. The slender fingers tenderly rubbing my knuckles. Calming me. Centering me. My eyes move up and there she is. Molly. 

_ Always Molly. _

“You can do this,” she whispers. “You can solve this. We’ll help.  _ We  _ will win.” The corners of her mouth turn upwards, revealing a faint, but reassuring smile. I try to reciprocate in kind, but instead, I nod solemnly. 

She lets go of my hand and makes her way over to Mary. My smile fades as I look down at the letter once again, my hand trembling. Fortunately, no one takes notice. There’s a postscript at the bottom that I didn’t dare say in front of them. The one person I can share it with is my brother and no one else.

_ P.S. I know that your brain is not your only gift. You are being watched. If you attempt to utilize your other ability, if you try to cheat, Mary won’t be the only one that dies. Moriarty only dared to, but I swear, Sherlock, that I will ‘burn a heart out of you.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> It's kind of tricky to balance the crime drama style of Sherlock with "About Time." But, I'm excited about where the story is going.
> 
> Credit to ACD for the reference to "The Adventure of Cardboard Box."
> 
> Credit to Moffat and Gatiss for dialogue taken from The Final Problem in this chapter.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	13. December 25, 2015 and January 26, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is on. Time to bring down one of Great Britain's most influential men. Is Sherlock up to the task? Can he prove Culverton's guilt without using his gift?

**December 25th, 2015**

**The Diogenes Club**

**London, England**

“She knows, Mycroft,” I say sternly.

“Sherlock, we need to think this through rationally-”

“She.knows!” I repeat. 

Mycroft sighs heavily, his right hand rubbing his brow. “Sherlock, you can’t get emotional about this. We need to remain calm.”

I narrow my eyes in skepticism. “Really? You believe that we shouldn’t be worried about this. What do you suggest we do? Do you have any information on how Eurus sent that-that  _ package _ ?” 

My brother’s eyes widen.  _ He knows something. _

“It would seem that our departed friend Dr. Bartlett was Eurus’s  _ source.  _ My informants have credible information revealing that he, indeed, set up her meeting with James Moriarty. Several witnesses saw Dr. Bartlett drop off an envelope at the police station on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. Three hours later, his body was found in the Thames. An apparent suicide.”

“Seems elementary that he would be involved, but this is _far_ bigger than two people.” I steeple my fingers under my chin, considering who else could be involved.

_ Moldy cherries. Two dead bees. What could it mean? _

“ _Cherries_...Cherry! Nurse Alice Cherry. She was the nurse that was in the room before Moriarty entered. She _has_ to be a part of this somehow.”  _ I saw her face clearly on the monitor. Those small eyes and her short hair. Her characteristics are so distinct it would be difficult to confuse her with anyone else. _

When I begin to take my leave, Mycroft interjects, stopping me from moving any further. “Sherlock! I beg of you. Focus on the Culverton Smith case. I’ll take care of  _ Miss Cherry.”  _ My brother keeps his serious, determined eyes fixed on me. He wants me to concede to his plan.  _ Why does he want to help? What’s his motive?  _ “You need to make sure that Mary Watson lives. She’s with child and both are in danger. You swore a vow to be there for the Watsons.  _ Always.  _ I intend to help you keep that promise.”

His sincerity takes me by surprise. Without saying another word, I nod my head in agreement and head out the door.

* * *

_ The stage is set. The curtain rises. We’re ready to begin. _

_ Culverton Smith, be afraid. Try, as you may, to lie and cheat and connive. In the end, I’ll expose you as the monster that you are. Very soon, the whole world will know who you truly are… _

* * *

**January 26th, 2016**

**Saint Caedwalla’s Hospital**

**London, England**

The 'Culverton Smith' wing of the new hospital is so...warm it's almost sickening.  Fluorescent lights illuminate above. Walls are covered with childlike murals. Even the tile flooring seems friendly and inviting.  According to plan, John and Molly accompany me on my visit. Apparently, they both think that I’ve gone mad. 

_ It’s only a facade. I’m a user, not an addict. _

“Mr. Holmes, I must say that your tweet has caused quite a stir. Now, we’re everywhere. That cereal brand is going to make me millions. Millions that I can invest in this magnificent hospital! All thanks to you.” Culverton leans in for a hug (he previously made it clear that he doesn’t do handshakes). His hand pounds into my back, feigning benevolence. 

As he hugs me, I take note of Molly standing in front of me, a fearful expression spreads over her face. I reassure her with a secretive smile. Culvteron finally releases me and flashes me a sickening grin as he looks at me. I soon become tired of the false pretense. “Shall we proceed with the tour?” I ask.

“But of course!” he exclaims, gesturing to me and my party to follow him down the hallway. As we walk, Smith narrates the intention behind every wall, tile, and light. I give off the impression that I’m interested in what he’s saying, and John, on the other hand, seems to actually be listening. Meanwhile, I feel Molly’s eyes on me.  _ She’s worried. She thinks I’ve gone too far. That I’m putting myself in danger.  _

_ Oh, Molly...This is half the fun.  _ I shoot her a wink, and she stifles a nervous giggle. 

“Something amusing, Dr. Hooper,” questions Culverton, scanning Molly up and down.  _ I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. _ My stomach tightens.

“Oh, yes. There is, actually. You donated millions to fund this beautiful hospital, but you have yet to mention if any of your money has gone towards research for cures to life-threatening illnesses or to subsidize medical bills for low-income families.” Molly’s wit shines through in every word that she utters.

Culverton chuckles. “Well, well. Your girlfriend's quite a perceptive woman, Mr. Holmes.”

I glance over at Molly, and I can feel heat rising in my cheeks. “No, she’s not my-”

“No matter,” he interrupts. “We’re about to enter my favourite room. I have no doubt that you’ll like this one, Dr. Hooper.” I try to talk to Molly in a hushed manner, but she averts her eyes and folds her arms, closing herself from me. 

_ I told the truth. She’s not my girlfriend. And yet...I can’t shake this feeling. Dryness in my throat. Heart beating faster. Palms sweaty. Why does my body betray me like time and time again? _

_ And why is it whenever she’s upset, I have this urge to hug-...comfort her?  _

* * *

  
  


“So, your favourite room is the morgue,” John says, questioning.

“Yes, Dr. Watson, and I can go wherever I like in this hospital. What do you think, Mr. Holmes?” asks Smith as his hand glides over the cold, metal slab and playfully taps on the sheet that's covering a recently deceased person.

“Tough crowd,” I reply jokingly as I inspect the mortuary. One body lies on a slab while all the others are marked and stored. No one else is in the room but us.  _ He arranged it this way. Just for us. _

“Oh, I don’t know.” He answers back, pulling the sheet down to reveal the fresh corpse underneath. Both John and Molly shudder. The sight is very unsettling. Blue, milky eyes with a blank expression. Saggy, wrinkled skin that has taken on a purplish hue. “I’ve always found them quite pliable.”

My repulsion of this man is soaring to new heights as he plays with the cadaver’s jaw, like a ventriloquist with his dummy. I squint my eyes in disgust.

“Please don’t do that,” implores Molly. 

Smith glares at her like a predator eyeing its prey. “Don’t worry, love. She’s dead.” Instinctively, I put myself between the two, shielding Molly from his leer. “Did you know that H.H. Holmes loved the dead? A relative of yours?” he asks me boldly.

“Not to my knowledge,” I say. “A serial killer, active during the Chicago Fair if I’m not mistaken.”

“Quite right. He built a special hotel just so he could kill people. Hanging rooms and gas chambers.” Culverton laughs darkly and turns away from the corpse. John takes the opportunity to cover the body, showing respect for the dead. “Stupid. So stupid. You don’t build a beach if you want to hide a pebble. Just find a beach. If you want to hide a murder- lots of murders...you find a hospital.” His voice lowers as he finishes his thought.

Molly pokes her head out from behind me. “Are you confessing?”

“To what?” Smith asks plainly. His mouth drops as Molly's eyes sink into him, seeing inside his wicked soul.  __

_ She really is willing to go into the mouth of hell. That’s my girl... _

Uncomfortable silence is rectified by Culverton’s laugh. “Oh! Am I a serial killer, you mean? Or am I just messing with you? Well, love-”

“Don’t call me ‘love,’” demands Molly sternly. A faint smirk forms at the corners of my mouth.  _ I like this side of you, Molly Hooper. _

Culverton lets out a brief chuckle from embarrassment. “Well, yes. I like to mess with people, and, I’ll admit, I can be a bit creepy. But, to answer your question, no, I’m not a serial killer. I just sell breakfast cereal, lo- Dr. Hooper.”

My eyes widen when I notice how he’s smiling at her. That smile makes me feel nauseous.

“Okay, I think the tour is over,” states John, heading for the door. “Sherlock?”

I wait a moment before responding.  _ Taking all possible scenarios into consideration first. I can’t cheat in this game. No second chances. I have to get this right, or Mary will die.  _ “You and Molly go on ahead. Mr. Smith and I will catch up in a moment.”

John looks at me curiously. “Are you-”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I retort, cutting him off. He leaves the room, and then Molly tugs on my coat sleeve and whispers in my ear, “I hope you know what you’re doing. Be careful.” She places a soft kiss on my cheek before following John outside. I close my eyes. Once I hear the door slam shut, I open them. My gaze is now fixed on Culverton Smith. The man who thinks his money can let him get away with murder.

_ Not while there’s still breath in my body. _

“Now that we’re alone, Sherlock, tell me...how high are you? Off your tits?” challenges Smith, rubbing his hands together like he’s getting ready for a fight.

I remain unmoved by his actions. Instead, I move about the room as we continue our conversation. “High enough to feel grreeaatt.” For extra measure, I give him two thumbs up, making him chuckle.

“Most amusing.” Culverton strolls over to me; each step is slow and deliberate. “And how do you intend on proving that I’m this monster that you claim I am?” His eyes are bulging and a wicked grin spreads across his face.

__

“I don’t have to,” I quip. “You’re going to confess.” I meet his gaze and smile in a self-satisfied manner. Then, he does something I wasn’t expecting. He starts laughing. A fit of hysterical laughter, uncontrollable and haunting. My face twitches in confusion. “Sorry...how's that funny?”

Somehow, Culverton finds the strength to answer with stifled laughs in between his words. “Oh..so- Ha! How’s it funny, you ask? Hahaha…” His face shifts from amusement to seriousness in a matter of seconds. A sensation of dread falls into the pit of my stomach. “Well, you see, you’re going to attack me in your drugged-up state, and  _ I,  _ being a helpless victim, am going to incapacitate you and make sure you’re in a hospital bed.”

Before I had time to respond, Culverton whips out a scalpel. He takes his free hand and scratches at his face, tearing into the flesh creating nasty gashes. His scream is piercing to my ears. Quickly, he heel kicks me in the diaphragm, knocking the wind out of me. I fall to the ground hard, gasping for air.

“HELP!” he screams out. “He’s attacking me. He’s armed!!” He delivers another blow, this time into my stomach. I hear John and Molly rush into the room. 

“Sherlock!” they both call out to me. My vision is hazy. I can only see blurred figures above me. “What have you done?” I hear John ask.

“He’s crazy, Dr. Watson! I was able to disarm him. If I didn’t, I’d probably be dead.”    
  


_ Culverton Smith, you’re almost as good a liar as I am. _

My mouth tastes of blood and bile. I’m too weak to get up. “Shh.” A soft voice is within earshot. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise. You’ll be all right.” It’s such a comforting voice. I feel a hand tenderly stroke my face. “Hold on, Sherlock. Hold on.”

Before I blackout, I manage to mutter one word.

“Molly.” 

* * *

When I come to, I realize that I’m restrained in a hospital bed.  _ Just like Culverton said. _ I see Molly sitting next to me, reading a book. As I attempt to sit up, she takes notice that I’m conscious and stops me from moving any further. “Don’t. Please, just relax. You’ve been asleep for quite a while.”

I smack my tongue against my hard palate, feeling the rawness of my mouth and throat. It hurts to speak. “How...how long?”

“It’s February.”

“What?”  _ How long exactly? Five days? A week?  _ “Has it really been a week?”

Molly nods. “Your injuries were pretty serious, and your body, being riddled with drugs, didn’t help.” She picks up a plastic cup of water and brings it to my lips. “Drink.” I do as she says. The cool liquid slips messily into my mouth (beads of water dribble down my chin). It feels so good. My sore throat eases slightly.

“Oh, and Mary had her baby.” The happy news brings a smile to my face.

“That’s wonderful news,” I say. “When was her birthday? What did they name her?”

“Rosamund Mary Watson was born on February 3, 2016, at four-thirty in the morning.” Molly replaces the cup back on the end table and takes a seat in her chair. “You’re the godfather by the way,” she adds with a laugh. “John and Mary have asked Mrs. Hudson and me to be the godmothers.” 

I narrow my eyes as the pieces start to fall together in my mind.  _ Being unconscious for so long, my brain needs some time to reboot all of its functions.  _ “We’re godparents...you and me.”

“Yes, that’s right,” replies Molly with a gentle smile. She places a hand on top of mine. Slowly, I rub my thumb against the palm of her hand. 

“Molly.” I gaze at her intently.

“Yes,” she answers softly. Her eyes finally reach mine.

“I need you to do something for me.” 

“What do you need?” 

_ You. Always you. _

“We’re going to take down Culverton Smith. Tonight, he’s going to make his final move, and I need you to bring me something before he does.”

She remains silent, listening carefully for my instructions. Her hand is still on top of mine, except now her fingers have laced with mine.

“Bring me John’s cane. I’ve bugged it.”

Her mouth opens and curves into a bright grin. “Oh, you brilliant man!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Credit to Moffat and Gatiss for dialogue taken from The Abominable Bride and The Lying Detective.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter! :)


	14. February 8th, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eurus's game draws Sherlock into deep waters as more of his friends are threatened...

_ Congratulations, brother dear. _

_ You won this round. And bravo for not cheating! Let’s see you if you can continue to do so. _

_ Mary Watson shall live. She’s been taken off my list. Be on the lookout for the next puzzle. It’s going to be such a good day. _

_ For me at least. _

_ Until then, _

_ E _

* * *

**February 8th, 2016**

**221B Baker Street, the sitting room**

**London, England**

As I pace about the room, Mycroft takes his time reviewing the file on Nurse Alice Cherry. Time passes, and I grow steadily more impatient. “So, what do you make of it? Any leads? What did you find?”

My brother sighs, closing the file. “Not much at this time. Most unfortunate. Only one feature that may be of interest to you. Nurse Cherry was spotted in several locations that should be familiar to you.”

_ That piques my curiosity _ . “Go on.”

“Alice Cherry had been seen at the following places.” Mycroft removes a sheet of paper from the file and reads out the list. “London Doctors Clinic (where John and Mary were working before your return), Saint Caedwalla’s Hospital (a bit transparent, don’t you think?), and….” 

There’s a slight tremor in his hand, and he takes a deep gulp.  _ Why’s he hesitating? Most unusual for Mycroft. Something’s wrong.  _ “Yes, and?” I ask.

“ St. Bartholomeus Hospital,” Mycroft replies softly. Upon hearing this information, my eyes widen and I steeple my fingers under my chin. 

_ She was a spy. Eurus was surveilling my friends. It’s all part of a grand scheme. But it’s still too nebulous. What’s this all for, sister dear? What are you playing at? _

* * *

  
  


“That was pretty clever,” remarks Lestrade. “Bugging something as innocuous as a walking cane. He never suspected it. Although...letting him try to kill you was pretty foolish.”

I settle into my chair, finally allowing myself to get comfortable after that strenuous ordeal. “Yes, well, I’m known for being indestructible, Lestrade.” 

He cracks a smile and nods. “True. And he can’t seem to stop confessing, so a trial should be underway in no time. Are you sure you’re okay to be left alone for a couple of minutes?”

“Oh, I believe I can survive without supervision,” I reply as I reach for my cup of tea. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” states John. He enters the sitting room and looks at me apprehensively.

“John, what’s wrong?” I ask, acknowledging his nervousness. He then reveals a handwritten note. His face tightens as he reads it out loud.

“Dearest Sherlock…” His voice sounds strained. There’s a shakiness to it that unsettles me. I lean forward in my chair, listening closely. “Well done, you. Now it’s time to play a new game. In the envelope I sent you, there were two dead bees. A messy little  _ bee  _ of yours has been poisoned. I will give you the antidote if you solve this crime for me.”

John reaches into his pocket once more with a trembling hand. He takes out a newspaper clipping and offers it for me. I quickly accept it and glance at the headline:

**Colonel James Barclay Found Dead**

_ Barclay’s body was discovered in his home off York Road in Aldershot by Bates, a close friend of his. “I had to break in through the window,” recalled Bates. “The door was locked from the inside.” There, he found Mrs. Barclay unconscious on the sofa, and his friend lying dead on the floor. Eyes wide open. Face contorted, as if he died of fright. This is still an ongoing investigation…. _

John reads the rest of the letter. His tone of voice reminds me of how he spoke when Moriarty whispered in his ear that night at the pool. “I’ll give you twelve hours. Solve the case and your  _ pet _ will live. I wonder if you can deduce which one I chose. Oh, this is going to be exciting! Have fun. Ta, ta for now. E.” 

I open my mouth to speak, elevating a hand as I contemplate. “This is going to be a good one, John. Come on! We don’t have a minute to lose. I have to solve this!”

“Wait, hang on!” John calls out to me as I make my way down the stairs. I stop to hear what he has to say. “Sherlock, aren’t you a little concerned about which ‘bee’ might be poisoned?”

“Of course, I am. But, we need to take it one step at a time. The sooner I solve the murder, the sooner I can save my friend.”

John nods his head and follows me downstairs. “Right...so where are we going?”

“To Aldershot!” I reply. Hastily, I open the front door and leap onto the pavement, calling out for the nearest taxi.

_ A nagging thought is eating away at me.  _

_ Call it a hunch… ‘a mess little bee’ _

_ “Now, John, I’d poison. Sloppy eater, dead easy.” _

_ It couldn’t be that simple. Could it? Why be so predictable, little sister? You have my full attention. I’m desperately trying to understand what’s all this for… _

_ Is it all...for me? _

* * *

**10 hours left...**

“So, Mr. and Mrs. Barclay were found in their sitting room with the doors locked from the inside.” John starts to restate the facts of the case as I scan the scene of the crime, processing any bits of data that can help move the investigation along. “And if his wife didn’t kill him, then…”

“A third person must have entered through the window,” I conclude. “John, look at the windowsill.”

Distinct, black smudges clear as day. “Scuff marks. On both the inside and outside,” he remarks.

“Exactly! This was the perpetrator’s way in and out. And there are no signs of a struggle though...Interesting.” 

In my coat pocket, I feel my mobile buzzing. I look to find Molly’s name appear on the screen. I slide my thumb across to accept the call. “Hi, Molly. This better be important. I’m very busy at the moment.”

“It is, Sherlock!” Molly says with urgency. “I just got in contact with a friend I have over at Frimley Park Hospital. According to his reports, Barclay died of an apoplectic fit. He died before his head hit the floor.”

“What? You mean to tell me that something  _ shocked _ him to death?”  _ It all seemed too simple for me. Why did Eurus choose this particular case? _

“Apparently. Have you spoken to any witnesses yet?” she asks.

“Oh, stupid!” I exclaim my epiphany.

“Sorry, what?” replies Molly, slightly offended.

“Oh, not you, Molly. What you said was brilliant. I need to pay my respects to the late Colonel’s wife. Bye!” With that, I hang up and rush towards the door.

“Hang on, Sherlock! What are you on about?” inquires John, quicken his pace to keep up with me.

“Eurus wanted me to solve this case. Not because of the ‘how’, but the ‘why’! Why did Colonel Barclay die of shock?”

* * *

**7 hours left…**

Nancy Barclay, by all accounts, is an attractive woman for her age. Ebony hair with streaks of gray, indicating her mature age, and fair, soft skin that glistens in the light. She has a symmetrical face with plump lips and a slim frame. 

As I pace about the room, I study her carefully as she nervously plays with her hair. Her eyes keep switching focus every thirty seconds or so.  _ She’s hiding something. _

John decides to break the silence with light conversation. “Your friend’s home is quite nice, Mrs. Barclay.”

“Yes, quite. I’m indebted to him. He gave me a place to stay during this very dark time in my life...The tea should be ready any minute now,” she says softly with a smile. I, however, am too focused on the case to acknowledge her statement. 

“Yes, some tea would be great. Thank you.” I know that John is giving me a disapproving look, but I ignore it.

“So, tell me, Mrs. Barclay. Who was the strange man that caused your husband’s sudden death?” I ask bluntly.

Her jaw drops and I hear her breath hitch.  _ A-ha! There it is. It was a shot in the dark deduction. But, this proves that I’m correct! _

Before Mrs. Barclay can reply, the whistling sound of a kettle that’s just boiled echoes from the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.” Her words are so hushed that I could barely register what she said. John crosses over to where I’m standing.

“Sherlock,” he starts in a low voice. “What is this all about? Why are we interrogating a woman in mourning?”

“Because, John, she’s hiding the fact that this  _ friend of hers  _ is actually a former lover. And balance of probability suggests that he was the third party that brought on Barclay’s fit of shock.” My words fly from my mouth at such a speed that I’m surprised how I manage to keep up with my brain.  _ So amusing how slow my tongue is when compared to my mind… _

John shakes his head vigorously and a gobsmacked expression plasters onto his face. “And how could you  _ possibly  _ know that?! You’ve only been here for five bloody minutes!” He does his best to contain his voice at a low level, despite his agitation. Hoping not to draw the attention of Nancy Barclay in the other room.

I take a deep breath in before providing my lengthy explanation. “Cologne and mementos. Remnants of Tom Ford cologne that I got a whiff of at the Barclay’s home didn't match any cologne that the late James Barclay owned. I just came across a bottle of Tom Ford cologne in the loo when we arrived. That cologne links Mrs. Barclay's friend to the scene of the crime.”

“And the mementos?” asks John.

“The silhouette pendants. Mrs. Barclay was staring at hers before she fiddled with her hair. I was able to catch a glimpse of what was inside. The silhouette of a man. I took advantage of my time in the loo and snooped around the master bedroom. There, I discovered another pendant. Same shape, color, and size of hers. Completely identical with one exception. Inside, I saw Mrs. Barclay’s very own silhouette. With all data collected, I surmise that they were lovers. Now all that’s left to do is hear an account of what transpired that night before Mr. Barclay met his unfortunate end.”

After finishing my deductions, John stifles a giggle. “You never cease to amaze me, Sherlock. Such minute details stringing together logical conclusions. I never understand why more people don’t notice it.”

“Because people don’t know how to observe. Like anything in life, the more one works and studies a skill, the more one can excel at it.”

Mrs. Barclay comes back into the sitting room, carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups. Her hands are shaky as she pours the tea. “Sugar, Dr. Watson?” she asks.

“No thank you.” 

Mrs. Barclay’s eyes meet mine and her hand slips. The hot liquid misses the cup and splashes onto the tray causing her to jump slightly. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what’s come over me,” she apologizes nervously. 

“Where’s your lover, Mrs. Barclay?” I inquire pointedly.  _ I need to settle this now. John’s life is on the line and he doesn’t even know it. “ _ His cologne matches the scent that got caught in the curtains at your home and don’t say that that pedant you’re wearing isn’t for sentimental reasons. For it clearly is.”

A pained puff of air escapes her lips as she lowers the teapot. “Yes, Mr. Holmes. You are quite right. But, I assure you it was all a terrible accident. Henry Wood  _ was _ my lover. In the Lebanon war, it was assumed that he was killed in action. Several months ago, I bumped into someone who had a striking resemblance to my Henry. Except he looked...different. A scarred face and a missing leg. The man engaged in conversation and right away I recognized his voice. You can’t imagine how I felt at that moment. The man that I loved had come back from the dead.” 

Mrs. Barclay begins stroking her ring finger as she continues to recount her tale. Her eyes carry on their balancing act between elation and sorrow. “What came afterward horrified me. Henry shared his side of the story. My husband, the man I shared my bed with, the man I trusted with my life,” She takes another pause, becoming overwhelmed with emotion. My patience is starting to diminish. I’m anxiously waiting for the story to end, so I can save my friend. I don’t know how much longer I can control these  _ feelings  _ of fear.

“He was responsible for Henry’s injuries! James deceived him.” She sniffles as tears start to spill out. “There was an explosion, and it was assumed that Henry was dead. No one could recover his body from the wreckage. There was this unassuming good samaritan that found him lying in a ditch, on the verge of death. He dressed his wounds and nursed him back to health.”

“Mm, yes. Please skip to when Henry came to your home on the night your husband died,” I request.

“Sherlock!” snaps John.

“We don’t have time, John! We need a definitive ‘why,’ so we can leave and save yo-I mean, so we can save my friend.” I avoid looking John in the eye as I catch myself from revealing too much. “I must...ap-apologize Mrs. Barclay, but time is of the essence. Please tell us what happened the night your husband.”

She nods. Her chest rises slowly as she draws in a deep inhalation. “Right, of course. Long story short, after learning that Henry survived (after all these years), I confronted James. I was so irate. I yelled and shouted at him. He doubled down, denying the truth of his actions. Unbeknownst to me and my husband, Henry was watching our row from the window. As soon as James laid a hand on me, Henry barraged into the room, taking us both by surprise. James froze up at the sight of him. Years of guilt coming back to haunt him. He then started to convulse and gag like he was having a stroke or something.”

“The apoplectic fit,” whispers John.

“And then he collapsed to the floor. His head bled out when it hit the hardwood.” Mrs. Barclay slumps into her seat, a sense of relief flooding her system. 

“And so the great Colonel James Barclay dies a broken man. A man who ruined the happiness of two people-”  __

_ Henry and Nancy were in love.  _

_ Love! Oh, stupid me! How could I have missed that?! _

_ Is that what you are trying to tell me, Eurus?  _

“Two people that were in love. That’s it! That’s what this is about!” I verbalize my inner thoughts, confusing both John and Mrs. Barclay. “Come on, John! It’s time you met my sister. I figured it out!” 

In the midst of my haste to leave, I remember my manners and stop to acknowledge Mrs. Barclay. “Thank you for your time. May you and Henry live out the rest of your days together.” I rush out the door after finishing my farewell. An annoyed John Watson follows behind.

“Sherlock! Sherlock, will you stop with this insanity and tell me what’s going on!” I can hear the frustration in his voice, so I humor him briefly.

“Sentiment, John. That’s what Eurus is looking for. That’s what all of this is for. She’s focusing on my attachments, targeting my friends. And now we don’t have a moment to lose. We need to get that package she sent me and return to Maudsley. We must get that antidote!”

* * *

**4 hours left…**

Package in hand, John and I enter Eurus’s private room, much to the chagrin of onlooking doctors and armed guards. The bleak chamber hasn’t changed much in the last three months. There still remains a place for her to sleep and a place for her to relieve herself. A violin is resting on her bed, collecting dust. 

_ She hasn’t been playing as of late. Curious. _

Eurus remains cool and collected as she did that day in November. A knowing smile forms on her face as her eyes meet mine. “Well done, you. You figured it out. And with time to spare.” Her voice drips with smugness and delight. 

“Yes,” I reply. “The code was ‘love.’ That was your reasoning behind choosing the Barclay case. Now, hand over the antidote!” I extend out my right hand with an open palm. Eurus’s lips part, exposing her teeth in a full grin. I feel a sense of dread drop to the pit of my stomach and I swallow thickly. In my head, I start anticipating likely scenarios. 

  1. _She won’t give me the antidote._
  2. _There is no antidote._
  3. _None of my friends have been poisoned._
  4. _She’ll give me the antidote but for a price._



Eurus reaches into her pocket and holds up a tiny vial containing a clear liquid. “You mean this little thing? I’ll only give it to you if you tell me who it’s for.”

“John,” I say quickly.

“What?!” exclaims John, panicked. “You dick! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We had limited time, John. I didn’t want you to worry. We had to focus on the case!”

He scoffs at my reply and moves away from me.  _ Sorry to disappoint you, John. But I did what I thought was best.  _

Her eyes widen and her smile fades. “Very good. I thought you’d be slower. How did you reach that conclusion, Sherlock?”

“Sloppy eater. Dead easy. You somehow heard what I said at John’s wedding, didn’t you, sister dear?”

“The world is full of coincidences. It just so happens that one of the servers from the wedding got a job here at Maudsley. She comes in to clean the floor that you’re currently standing on.” She cocks her head to the side, her eyes move to our feet and then back up. “Sweet, little thing. So easy to talk to. She shares  _ lots _ of stories with me.”

“The antidote. Now!” I yell from a low, grumbling place in my throat. My sister is testing my patience. I’m tired of her sick games.

With a blank stare, Eurus maintains eye contact as she slips the vial into the slot at the bottom of the glass wall (where she’d usually get her meals and medication).

John rushes over to retrieve it. Before taking a drink, he takes a sniff of the vial’s contents. “Is this...some kind of animal extract?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s the essence of a bezoar.”

“Chinese medicine?” John responds, questioning. 

“I’m a traditionalist, Dr. Watson,” says Eurus, slick with charm. “Do drink it and get it over with. You’ll be needed for the next game.”

Both John and I direct our attention to my sister and interject an agitated response at the same time. “What?!”

A small laugh escapes her lips. “Drink,” she beseeches John softly.

He does so obligingly though his hand trembles as he does. 

“Oh, Sherlock,” she says musically. “I think you should answer that call.”

No sooner when I furrow my brows in confusion that I feel the vibration of my mobile in my pocket. I reach in to pull it out and the caller ID reads ‘Unknown.’ As requested, I answer, delicately bringing it to my ear. “Hello?” I hesitantly greet the stranger.

“Hi there, Sherlock. This is Alice Cherry.” The gravity of the situation causes my mouth to drop slightly and I remain silent, waiting for more clarification. “I have someone here with me who’d like to say hello. Don’t you, love?” 

There is silence for only a moment. I can hear a faint sob, and then a shaky, timid voice speaks to me on the other end. “He-hello, Sherlock. Are you-are you ready fffor the final ppproblem?” I hear more quiet sobs. I feel my heart sink in my chest.  _ I know that voice. That soft, gentle voice. _

“Molly?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Credit to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for the plot elements taken from "The Adventure of the Crooked Man"
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter :)


	15. February 9th, 2016

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clock is ticking. Molly's life is on the line. Can Sherlock save her in time?

**February 9th, 2016**

**Maudsley Hospital**

**London, England**

_ “Breathe, Sherlock.” I hear Molly in my mind say. “Just breathe. I’m gonna be okay. It’ll be okay....” _

I’m taken by surprise when I feel a hand gently touch my shoulder. “Sherlock…” whispers John in a concerned voice. “She’s alive. You need to snap out of it.”

I take my friend’s advice, acknowledging him with a nod. I then shift my attention to my deranged sister. A blank stare and wicked grin are plastered on her face. “Well, Eurus. What’s the puzzle this time?” I ask. Although my voice sounds calm, I feel my body betraying me. My heart is pounding loudly in my chest, and my breath is shaky. 

_ Look at me. I’m frightened. God help me...  _

“Molly’s perfectly safe  _ for now _ . Alice is taking  _ good care  _ of her. I’m giving you eight minutes, Sherlock. Alice needs to hear the release code from Molly’s lips. Otherwise, once those eight minutes are up...bang.bang.bang.” She mimes shooting a gun with her hands, aiming it at me. “Poor mousy Molly will die.”

“Why? Why Molly? Why did you choose her?!” I beg her for an answer.  _ She’s enjoying this. Playing this...game. I want to know why! _

“Oh, Sherlock. I think you know perfectly well why.” Her mouth curves into a crooked smile. “You just won’t admit to yourself...Very interesting. What was it that you said to her that day?” Eurus’s face softens and she looks at me longingly. “Moriarty slipped up. He made a mistake.” She’s mimicking the way I speak. “Because the one person he thought didn’t matter at all to me was the one person that mattered the most.”

My lips part and I can feel my chest tighten.“You...you heard me?” 

Eurus nods slowly. “Amazing what CCTV footage can capture...A brief,  _ intimate _ moment” Her gaze drifts over to John. “Take out Dr. Bartlett’s thumb. I told you that you’d need it.”

Without hesitation, John sticks his hand into the envelope and pulls out the severed digit. “What do you want me to do with it?” he asks sharply. His eye twitches, a nervous tick from being under duress. 

“There’s a discolored section of the glass wall. Press the thumb on it,” directs Eurus, pointing to the insignificant spot located on the far left side of the wall.

John follows her instructions.  As soon as the thumb makes contact with the glass, the spot illuminates and the section of the glass wall slides down as a car window would, leaving an opening the size of a door in its wake. 

“A clever mechanism. I had Dr. Bartlett arrange it for when this day would come.” Eurus slowly steps through the opening, making her way over to the stone wall next to John. “He was so...sweet, and I can be very  _ persuasive _ .” A touch of her finger on one brick and then several of them slide to the right, revealing a TV monitor. A screen showing Molly Hooper. Alice Cherry is positioned next to her. She’s pressing a mobile to Molly’s ear in one hand and brandishing a handgun in the other. Molly is sitting in a chair, her hands tied behind her back. Although the video quality is poor, I can see the expression on her face. Anxiety and woe.

Something I’ve buried deep inside starts to bubble up to the surface. A feeling I’ve divorced myself from for far too long. So long that I can’t remember when the feeling began to take root within me. _ I can’t articulate it. What does this feeling mean?  _ I’m drawn to the monitor, inching closer and closer. My eyes are fixed to the screen. My heart stills as I gaze at her. “What’s the release code, Eurus?” I ask softly.

“Oh, I’m not gonna tell you that, brother dear. That would spoil the fun!”

Her statement causes my nostrils to flare and I tear my eyes away from the screen, shooting a dark look at my sister. “What?!” I shout. “How can I possibly do this? What.Is.The.Code?!” 

“You already gave me the code, Sherlock. You’re feeling it right now. Come on, clever boy. Time to think. Your eight minutes start now!”

“Sherlock, sherlock!” Molly calls out to me. I press the phone to my ear.

“Yes, yes. I’m here, Molly. I’m here.” My laboured breaths and the ringing in my ears make it difficult for me to think clearly. And the anxiety in Molly’s voice makes it even harder.

“What’s going on? I don’t understand,” she cries.

“I know. I’m trying to figure that out right now. Just...just give a moment. I’m not going anywhere. I promise!”

As I start to close my eyes, Eurus shouts, “Don’t even think about it! I’ll finish her right now if you try it!”

“Eurus, no!” I exclaim. “I’m just going into my Mind Palace. Please I’m not going to travel. I promise. Please. Please!!”

“Very well,” she says, monotone. “6 minutes remaining.”

_ Think, Goddammit, think! She said I already gave her the code. What did I say?  _

_ The code was love. Is that it love? No, too easy. But close…  _

_ Wait a minute! Love...love… That’s it. That’s what this feeling is.  _

_ That’s what I felt when I kissed her. That’s what I’ve been denying myself from feeling. _

_ I love her, and... _

_ Oh, God. I have to get Molly to say “I love you.” How can I ask that of her? _

_ How... _

I take a deep breath in, steadying myself. The clock is ticking. I have to act quickly or I’ll lose her. “Molly, I need you to listen very carefully. I have to tell you something.” I blurt out my words as fast as I can. I can’t waste time.  _ Time isn’t on my side. _

“Yes, okay. What is it?” she replies, faltering. She’s unsure of where I’m going with this.

“Molly...I’ve-I’ve kissed you-”

“What?!” she interjects, her voice thundering in my ear. “I’ve got a gun aimed at me and you’re telling me you've kissed me?! What are you on about, Sherlock? You’ve never kissed...properly that is.”

“Listen, I-” I stop myself. I don’t want to reveal that secret, not yet at least. But, there is one secret I can share. One that I’ve kept hidden from everyone, even myself. 

_ This is it. No turning back. This is the only way she can trust me. The only way I get her to say those words. I have to start first. I, for the first time, must open my heart... _

“Please, listen to me! That day we solved crime together. Do you remember that day?”

“Yes.” I hear her start to cry on the other end. “Yes, of course, I do.”

“And do you remember what I said to you later on, in the hallway?”

“Yes,” she says softly.

“For the first time, I expressed myself in a way I didn’t think I was capable of... Molly, you’ve always been there for me-”

“Four minutes,” warns Eurus.

I do my best to not be rattled, focusing on the woman on the screen in front of me. The woman I must protect at all cost. “I said that Moriarty made a mistake, remember?”

“Yes,” she says through a sob.

“That you were one person that mattered the most.”

“Yes. You said that because you needed my help. You were just expressing gratitude, Sherlock.” Molly’s voice is quiet and crestfallen.  _ She’s given up hope. But, doesn’t she realize? Can’t she see it? _

“No!” I cry out. “It’s because- it’s because…” It’s difficult to get the words out. More difficult than I anticipated. “Because I- I love you!” 

_ I said it.  _

Those three little words aren’t entirely foreign to my lips. I’ve said them before. To my parents and my brother. To John and Mary. And yet, this time feels  _ different _ .  _ I  _ feel different saying it to her. To Molly Hooper. Brilliant Molly Hooper,  _ my  _ pathologist. A euphoric sensation washes over me. My muscles ease and time stops. It feels  _ extraordinary.  _ In this moment, the threat of a ticking clock doesn’t cross my mind. All I do is gaze at her through the hazy screen. Oh, how I want to be there with her. To hold her, to comfort her. I have traveled through time for her and I’d do it all over again. Each time, I would always choose  _ you _ . 

_ I love you, Molly Hooper. I want to say it again. I want you to know that it’s true. _

“I love you.” This time, I’m softer. The words feel more natural to me now. Like they were always meant to be said to her.

_ It’s you that I love, Molly. It’s always been you… _

“Sherlock,” starts Molly. “You don’t- you don't know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” I hear her let out a bittersweet laugh. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Final minute, Sherlock.” I glance over at Eurus. She’s watching me with fascination. Like a scientist observing a lab rat.

Sheer terror invades my body.  _ I can’t lose you!!  _ “Molly, please say it back.”

Silence.  _ Oh God, please no. Don’t take her away from me. Please God no!  _ “Molly, please! I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I beg of you. Say it back. Please. I love you!”

With bated breath, I wait. I fear my heart might explode from the thunderous sound it’s making. Blood pumps through my veins so fast; I feel lightheaded.  _ Please, Molly. Please say it. _

And then, her faint, hushed voice takes a sharp inhale and she whispers to me almost like a prayer, “I love you, Sherlock.”

My body collapses to the floor. I place the phone down and bury my head in my hands, feeling the wetness of my face from the tears I didn’t realize I’ve shed. I’m still shaking. Relief and awe are swirling inside me.  _ I was completely vulnerable. I haven’t been that vulnerable since I was a child.  _

“I think Alice got the message. Well done, Sherlock.” I hear her footsteps coming towards me and she starts to clap slowly as she approaches. “What a touching display of sentiment. Why couldn’t you ever say those words to me? How come you  _ never _ loved me?”

I finally lift my head to look up at her, and I’m astonished to see genuine tears in her eyes. “You-you did all of this because yyou thought tthat I didn’t love you?! You’re the one that tried to kill me!” Pure, unbridled rage takes over.  _ How dare she put Molly’s life in danger for this! It’s so petty. So childish! _

“Because I wanted your attention!!” she screams in my face, wide-eyed. “Why, Sherlock? Why?” Her last few words crumble into mummers as she falls to the floor beside me, crawling into a fetal position.

_ So this is her weakness. Me. The brother she loved. The brother she desperately sought after for attention. And I never gave it to her. It’s true. I never said those words to Eurus. Now, I must summon what’s left of my strength. Perhaps, if I give this to her, Eurus can finally start to heal.  _

_ Maybe, she’ll get better.  _

“I’ll give you what you want. I’m here for you now.” I envelop my arms around my sister, bringing her in close to me. I let her head rest on my shoulder as strands of hair scratch at my face. Then, I hear crying. Eurus’s crying. I do what any brother would do. I squeeze her tighter. I rock her as a parent would for their child. “I’m here,” I whisper in her ear. 

“Oh, Eurus… What have you done?” A new, but very familiar voice echoes in the chamber.

John finally speaks up. “Mycroft, how did you-”

“I told Sherlock I would look into Alice Cherry. I’m a man of my word.” A hand pats me on the back. “I have it under control. Dr. Hooper is now in safe hands. I think it’s time we took care of our sister, don’t you?”

I nod my head as I gently let go of Eurus, her arms still reach out for mine. I take hold of Mycroft’s hand, and he helps pull me up.

I turn to John first. He gives me a sad but reassuring smile and a firm squeeze of my arm. Then, I face Mycroft. “You-are you positive she’s safe?” I ask. 

If I didn’t know my brother well enough, I’d say there’s a hint of kindness in his eyes. “You have my word,” he replies sincerely. “You may speak to her once my men assist Eurus with...getting some rest.”

Just as he says this, several men entered the room with a stretcher. I see one man approach Eurus, syringe in hand. “Eurus, don’t worry. My name is Dr. Weston. I’m going to be administering a sedative to relax you. Do I have your consent?”

She nods her head slowly, her eyes closed and her eyebrows lifted (almost like she’s dreaming). The needle penetrates her skin, soon her body goes limp and she leans into the doctor. I look on as she lifted onto the gurney, carrying her away to who knows where. I contemplate if I shall ever see my sister again. I wonder if what I did will make a difference. Or am I just fooling myself? 

My thoughts wander back to Molly Hooper. The woman who has saved me so many times. The woman who astonishes me with each encounter. The woman I love...

Now that I’ve said those words, a strange breed of fear takes hold of me. 

_ Where do we go from here? What shall become of me and her? Will she believe me or will she think I’m a liar? Have I opened a door to a new adventure or have I closed one irrevocably?  _

_ But, once you’ve opened your heart, you can’t close it again... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. :)
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter!


	16. February 9th, 2016 (continued)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally comes to terms with his feelings...

“So, tell me, Mycroft,” I say as I pace about his office. My body aches with each step, the weight of the day’s stresses finally taking its toll on me. “How did you manage to find Molly?”

My brother sniffs sharply as he straightens his back in his chair. “I have  _ connections.  _ Those who cooperate with me divulged information on Ms. Alice Cherry’s whereabouts. One of my informants notified me that she was spotted with Ms. Hooper-”

“Doctor,” I interrupt.

Mycroft furrows his brow. “Sorry?” he says, perplexed. 

“Doctor Hooper,” I confirm. “She went to medical school. She did the work. Therefore, she has earned the title.”

My brother widens his eyes and cocks his head to the side in a fashion that suggests ‘my, oh, my, Sherlock, your sentiment is starting to show.’ But instead of verbalizing those thoughts, he says, “Yes, of course... _ Dr. _ Hooper was spotted with Nurse Cherry, entering an abandoned building off of Fleet Street. Naturally, it was suspicious, so I made some calls to ensure  _ Dr _ . Hooper would be safe.”

“And you couldn’t have come sooner? Her life was on the line.”

“Do calm down, Sherlock. Unfortunately, that information didn’t travel as quickly as I would have hoped. But, that was no fault of mine, I assure you.”

My lips tighten, and I nod. “And what else? Any explanation about how our sister...gathered information while being isolated in a hospital for all these years?”

For Mycroft to answer, he takes out a thick file from the left-hand side drawer, dropping it on his desk dramatically. “Our sister had been very persuasive to some of her doctors and nurses,” he says as he starts to peruse the file. “She figured out what they...liked.” 

I can tell that the thought of Eurus seducing anyone is making Mycroft uncomfortable. He gulps deeply, and I, in turn, do the same. He continues, “After Moriarty managed to chat with Eurus, his spies kept a close watch on you. Studying your habits and who you interact with. Such information was forwarded to Moriarty and then to our dear sister. Dr. Bartlett was responsible for those cameras in her room. One bribe to the night shift guards and they kept quiet. And Alice… she did many favors for our sister, it seems. Most interesting. She was very loyal to Eurus, almost enamored with her. But, then again, our sister can have that effect on people.”

Instead of replying, I steeple my fingers under my chin, continuing my turn about the room while absorbing all of this new information. I begin to contemplate what I’ll say to Molly when I see her.  _ If she’ll let me see her... _

* * *

**Molly’s Flat**

**London, England**

Silence. That’s what’s filling the room. It’s palpable. Me, standing on ceremony with my hands behind my back. Her, sitting in her chair, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. I can’t take my eyes off her, and she can’t bear to look at me. 

The feelings I have repressed for so long have surfaced, and I can’t go back to the way I was before. I’ve tried to change fate.  _ For her, I took back the kisses and the slip-ups. I took it all back. All for the sake of misguided decorum. _ No amount of time traveling can change this simple fact: I am completely and irrevocably in love with Molly Hooper. 

I can bear the stillness no longer. I move my mouth slowly, my first attempt in speaking to her since I arrived. “Molly, I...I hope you are well.” My jaw tightens as I instantly regret my choice of words.

“ _ Really, Sherlock?”  _ John’s voice reverberates in my head.  _ “Is that the best you can do? The woman was kidnapped, her life threatened, and she was forced to confess her love for you. And the best you can do is ‘I hope you are well’?!  _

_ Shut up, John! _

“What?” breathes Molly. At last, she locks eyes with me, and my heart skips a beat. “I guess, considering what I’ve just been put through...Yes, I’m  _ fine,  _ Sherlock.”

I am wholly unprepared for this conversation. I need a moment. I need more time, and fortunately for me, I have all the time in the world. “Please excuse me for a moment.” I remove myself from the sitting room, making my way to the loo. 

Darkness consumes my surroundings. I close my eyes and clench my fists.  _ I’m Sherlock Holmes, the time traveler once more. _

* * *

Although this is my second attempt at initiating the conversation, I can’t help but feel my nerves get the better of me. I feel like my heart is made of glass and can shatter at any moment.  _ Is this what being in love feels like? _

“Are you okay? Is there a-anything y-you need?” I ask timidly. 

Molly surprises me with a slight smile. “I’ve seen this film before, except now the roles are reversed, isn’t that right?” 

I immediately understand the meaning of her statement. “It’s the least I can do. Your life was just threatened,” I reply flatly and then flash a smirk.

Molly reacts with a giggle.

_ She does have a lovely laugh. _

“I suppose you’re right. Well, there is one thing…” She doesn’t finish her thought, and I don’t let the quietness linger much longer.

“What’s that?” I ask.

Molly steps towards me, an apprehensive expression fixed on her face. Then, my breath hitches as her arms wrap around my middle, and her head is buried in my chest. As she squeezes me tight, I can hear her faint muffled sobs. “I was so scared,” she mumbles.

I’m not accustomed to hugs. Never have been overly fond of them if I’m honest with myself. At this moment, however, I can’t stop myself from enveloping my arms around her, bringing her closer to me.  _ She needs me...she needs me. _

In my mind, Molly is the strong one. She’s always been strong. This woman who agreed to walk into the mouth of hell held me when I was at my most vulnerable. And now...the tables have turned. After everything I’ve done to her, everything I’ve said. She gives and gives and gives. And what did I do? Take, take, take.

This is my chance. I’m going to give back, repay my debt to her. Express my gratitude. I gently stroke her head as she sobs into my chest, my fingers running through soft, wavy hair. We both sense the comforting warmth emanating in our embrace. I can feel her body start to ease, muscles becoming relaxed and breath becoming slower. 

_ She’s calming down. I did it. I’m capable of comforting someone. Imagine that. _

Molly slowly pulls herself away from me, taking the opportunity to dry her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m-I’m feeling much better. Thank you,” she says softly, her eyes directed at her feet. 

I’m fully aware now that what I’m feeling as I look at her is love. Pure, unadulterated love. John once said that I can see through anyone and anything and yet I can be spectacularly ignorant about other things.  _ God, I hate it when he’s right.  _ I have played with fate for far too long. It’s time to acknowledge what has always been there. Hiding underneath. In stolen glances and private moments. 

“I love you, Molly Hooper,” I declare. My words are resolute and candid. I see the mixed expression of terror and relief in her face. How odd it is when one is in love. Fear in love is fear in the unknown. Will we last the test of time or will our love be fleeting? 

I rest my hand upon her chin, my thumb brushing softly against her skin. Her mouth opens, “I-”

I move in, and our lips lock. I can no longer subdue the powerful urge bubbling up inside me. For Molly, this is our first time. For me, I’m reliving a memory, a precious memory. I press firmly. Her lips are so soft, just like I remembered. Lips that I have hungered to kiss again. Lips that feel like home.

At first, she remains stationary, her body tense from my surprise. My hands move to cradle her head, reassuring her of my sincerity. Soon after, she melts into the kiss, a slow dance with our mouths. Our dance is deliberate and impassioned. I feel the heat rising in her cheeks, tingling my fingers. 

In this moment, we are infinite.  _ So this is how you can stop time… _

_ Please make it last just a little longer. Please know that I won’t take it back. I need this. _

_ I need you. _

_ I love you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I know it's been a while since I updated. Life happens :)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!!


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